In The Darkest Part Of Me
by frayedattheends
Summary: AU. Two women in New York City, both struggling between being who they are and who they want to be, and both needing help to get there. Is it better to stay in the safety of pain, or to stumble through the darkness of the unknown in hopes of breaking free? Either way it isn't an easy road. But when is life ever easy?
1. Prologue

Prologue

She feels nothing around her, not even her own mind, as a warm hand brushes her cheek. Until this moment she's been somewhere else, somewhere she can't even recall. But that hand brings her back. It brings her as close to back as she can get, which isn't very close.

Hand though. Warmth. A hum settles on her throat that she doesn't feel.

"Shit. _Dammit_!"

The words wash over her and a giggle sounds. She doesn't even realize it's hers. "Such a dirty mouth, Q," she mutters. At least she tries to. To any other ears it comes out a jumbled mess of slurs. She tries to open her eyes, but it hurts. Even the faint amount of light around them hurts her eyes. She's not sure where she is physically, but it doesn't even cross her mind to wonder. Nor to care.

She doesn't see much beyond the blurry shape of blonde before her so she lets her eyes close once more. She hums again and feels herself settle against the hand on her cheek. It feels like she's moving around in fast, fast circles, but that hand on her cheek is keeping her on the ground. It's something real and safe that she can hold onto, even though she can't move her limbs to touch it.

She's okay. She'll be okay. She can't float away with this rock against her. She's not made of helium.

She feels like she is. She's air, nothing real or concrete. She can float away, soar into the sky and never come down, and a part of her thinks that might be nice. Float...fly on forever and ever...touch the clouds...if she can only...let go...

Everything feels heavier but lighter at the same time as she slips into that perfect world of fuzzy darkness., where nothing feels real and nothing feels like anything at all. All that there is to reach for is darkness.

As she free falls into that darkness, she can't hear the soft cries above her. "I can't do this anymore, Santana. _You_ can't do this anymore."

* * *

"1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4,1-2." Her voice bounces off of the mirrored walls as she keeps her eyes shut. She listens carefully to the movements around her and with a sigh she opens her eyes to look at the dancing girls before her. "On beat, ladies!" She moves over and slams a closed fist into the barre so that they can all feel the reverberations. "1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4!-" Each count getting louder and sharper. "Tighten up, Sadie!"

She watches the young girls glance at each other and ignores it. They're thirteen, she doesn't expect anything else from them.

"Stop!" She grips onto the barre and closes her eyes with a deep breath. "You guys have a week. A _week_. Get it together and start from the top!"

"But...Ms. Pierce, it's five o'clock," one of the girls says carefully.

"Glad you can tell time, Sarah. We're going again." She moves over to the iPod that's hooked to speakers and starts the song again. Before she can even start a count off someone claps three quick times in succession. Her eyes dart to the mirrors and see Mike as he steps into the room.

"Alright ladies, time. Go home. We'll see you tomorrow afternoon," he says to the kids. They all glance to their instructor before quickly taking the chance given to grab their bags and run out.

When the studio is empty Brittany turns around to face her colleague. "Don't do that. Don't undermine me in front of _my_ students."

"Britt," he says gently as he walks forward. "You're getting into the angry place, and I'm here to keep you out of it."

She takes her iPod and wraps her fingers around it tightly. Something to hold onto. The cold feels good against her sweaty palm. "No, you're here to work. Just like me. You're not my babysitter."

"No," he replies. "I'm not. But I'm your friend, and I'm telling you to take tomorrow and the rest of the weekend off." He steps over to a nearby chair and picks up an abandoned wooden cane. It's made of a dark amber wood, and engraved into the handle are three tiny unicorns dancing up a shooting star. He takes the final steps to her and holds it out. "Come back on Monday."

Brittany levels a glare at her friend and snatches the cane from him. At least he's not bitching at her for not using it. She leans her weight to the cane on her right and debates challenging him but decides she's too tired. Too drained. Her eyes roll and she starts to hobble away. All she wants to do is grab her stuff from her office and get the hell out. Every time he does this he just embarrasses her, and he knows it. He doesn't even fucking care.

"Go tonight, will you?" He calls after her.

She says nothing as she walks out the door and towards her office. She doesn't need to do anything but sleep. That'll make her feel better, and it'll get her closer to being herself again. At least the self that she is now. She grimaces as a dull pain shoots through her right leg. That constant, irritating reminder of everything she used to be.


	2. Chapter One

She may grumble about it, but this is one of her favorite places to be. The musty, dank smelling room, the added scent of watered down coffee and too much perfume emanating off one of her 'friends', and even the uncomfortable metal folding chairs that should logically make her more sore upon leaving than arriving. Separately these things aren't anything to enjoy, but mixed together, in the setting they're in, it's a second home to her. Or...third. Something like that.

It's never been the most comfortable place, and she sure as hell has hated it at times, but over all it's a good place to be. It's safety. She hasn't been here in a few weeks, so as she tucks her cane into a corner and moves to settle into one of the chairs, she looks around the room. Most faces she recognizes, but a few she doesn't. On those new faces she recognizes the familiar body language. From the uncomfortable look on the middle aged man's face, by the way he's watching his feet instead of the room, and how he leans back in his chair; she can tell he's been a couple of times before. The older woman looks reserved but settled. Her eyes look weary, and there are more wrinkles around them than her age should probably show. She may be new in some ways, but this isn't nearly the beginning for her. Maybe she's just moved here.

And then the young woman.

The first thing she notices is that she's incredibly hot. Long, dark hair, so dark that it's almost black. It's pulled back against the girl's neck in a loose ponytail. Like she had little time to do anything else with it. Her equally dark eyes are flitting around the room nervously, never settling on anyone or anything for long. The corner of her lips, very beautiful kissable lips, are twisted in thought. Her eyebrows drawn together for what looks like the same reason. She looks like she's trying to convey that she's calm, that she doesn't care, by also leaning back in her chair, but her hands are wrung together tightly in her lap. One finger is scratching lightly at the top of it's opposing hand. Oh no, this girl...this girl is brand new. It's written all over her face. She doesn't want to be here, and she doesn't think she should be.

Brittany lets out a long sigh. It's going to be a long night. It always is with that type in the crowd. The girl's wandering eyes meet hers and pause for a moment before narrowing in a slight glare and moving on. The blonde closes her own eyes and thinks back a few years, remembering when that was her, but it's not a time she likes to think about so she quickly pushes it away. It's moments later that she snaps to and realizes it's started and everyone is looking at her. She clears her throat and gives the room a half smile, a slight wave to those she knows so well.

"Hi, my name's Brittany and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi Brittany," the room choruses.

* * *

Santana keeps her eyes shut when the meeting starts. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't even feel like she needs to be here with these losers. Some of them look exactly as she always figured their types should; old, sad, and pathetic. Others look kinda normal, but they're not. None of them are. Not even-

At the sound of the blonde's voice she opens her eyes and glances her way. Her first thought when she had seen her? _Wow_. Her second thought being, of course, _stop_. Stop that trail of thought before it goes anywhere. She doesn't have to think about how gorgeous the blue eyed-blonde is, because it's obvious. Anyone with eyes would see that she's model-pretty. Despite them being covered up in loose work-out pants, she clearly has the long legs to be a model. That's really all Santana meant by her thoughts. Honest. Mainly she wonders how this woman even belongs in this room. She knows she herself doesn't. Maybe the other woman is being forced here as well.

A throat clears and the room goes silent. A voice breaks through Santana's thoughts. "Would you like to introduce yourself, honey?"

She jerks her head up and looks at another blonde, tiny and older, sitting several chairs away from her. Probably where that god-awful perfume is radiating from. As she looks around, Santana realizes everyone is starting at her. She crosses her arms over her stomach defensively and slouches slightly.

"Santana," she mutters. "And I'm not an alcoholic or anything, so.." She watches looks of sympathy and pity cross the faces of the people around her, and that causes her to glare a little harder. "My roommate said I had to come tonight or she'd kick me out. I didn't exactly have a choice." She avoids everyone's eyes now so she doesn't have to see those looks she hates, but for a moment her eyes do fall on the younger blonde, and she notices that she's the only one not looking at her like that. Instead the blue eyes are just watching her as though she's a specimen to be studied. To be read. A shiver hits her spine and she's not so sure she likes that look either, even though a deeper part of her kinda does.

The older blonde, who seems to be the leader, titters slightly. "Well now, darlin', why on earth would she force you here if you don't need to be?"

There's something Santana hates about this woman already. Why is she laughing at a time like this? At a place like this? Do these people actually have anything to laugh about in their miserable lives? She keeps her glare on the floor near her feet. "She's worries too much. Always has. I partied a little too hard the other night and she freaked out." Santana's shoulders rise and fall carelessly.

"What's 'too hard'?" The annoying woman prompts further, using air quotes and all.

Like she really has to explain herself to these people? Isn't the point of these things to listen to everyone else tell _their_ sob stories? "Look, I came home and passed out and she decided she had to take me to the ER. I didn't need to go, I was fine. I woke up there yesterday and she gave me this fucking ultimatum. She's overreacting, like I said."

"Hmmm," the older woman hums. There's a long moment of silence before her voice perks up again. "Next!"

"Hello, my name is Leonard and I'm an alcoholic."

And just like that they've moved on. Santana couldn't be more relived. She hasn't bothered in any of the group 'hellos', and she isn't doing it now. As the words continue around the circle she risks a glance up, but only to the younger of the blondes, and when their eyes meet she realizes she's still being studied. Only now she sees a hint of that same pity in the blue eyes and she feels sick to her stomach. So much for there being one set of eyes not looking at her like she's pathetic. She's not pathetic. _They_ are.

She gives Ms. Model a harder glare and flicks her chin up slightly to make her look away, and she does. She focus back in on the meeting when the older blonde finally speaks again, bringing the circle to a close.

"Hi y'all, I'm April, your esteemed leader, and I'm an alcoholic. So now! Should we get this party started or what?" She laughs and waves a hand. "Kiddin', you know I'm kiddin'." Her laugh fades and her features sober. "So. Anyone feel like sharin' anything tonight?"

* * *

It's been a long time since Brittany has spoken about herself in a meeting. The last few times she just listened and offered her words to the others, but this time something is itching in her, and it's not just her leg. Bottom lip between her teeth she hesitates, before speaking up in the silence following April's offer.

"I've been yelling at my kids again," she says, feeling ashamed. She knows that shame can be heard in her voice, and she's no longer embarrassed by that. If anything she's glad for it because she knows there was a time it wasn't there. No one says anything as they wait for her to continue. She sighs and glances over at Yvonne, one of her closest allies in the group. The older woman gives her a smile and gentle nod to go on. The woman hasn't heard from Brittany lately, but that never stops her from supporting her and that means the world to the blonde. She tries to return the smile, but she knows it's halfhearted and shaky. "I don't even realize anymore when I'm getting angry again or why, it just...pops up. A couple weeks ago I was doing great and I was feeling almost awesome, but today..." She shakes her head. "They're doing so well, and they're really excited for their showcase next weekend, but I have been _so_ hard on them and it's not fair." Her lips turn to a slight pout with her last words.

"What's not fair about it?" Yvonne speaks up. Her tone is warm, a lull to Brittany's heart as it always is. Brittany looks to her friend and holds her gaze as she pretends it's only them alone in the room talking. "Not fair that you're being a bitch to them, or not fair that they get a showcase and you don't?"

Brittany knows the answer to that. It's the answer that's been plaguing her again and again over the years. She knows it's something she needs to vocalize and address as often as she can, but tonight she's just so tired. Her smile goes is a bit weaker this time. "Both, I guess."

* * *

She has sat quietly listening to these people talk and it's only convinced her even more that she's nothing like any of them. Even if being here causes a thrumming in her head, an anchor pulling her back to all of the thoughts that she tries to escape constantly, she knows she doesn't belong. So what if alcohol is the only thing that shuts everything up? It's not a problem. It's a fucking brilliant solution.

Santana's jaw is set as she reaches for a little styrofoam cup and moves it to the large metal vat of coffee. Before she can pull the lever forward and dispense the liquid a voice appears over her shoulder.

"Don't."

She pauses and glances behind herself. Immediately she finds herself looking up into the blue eyes she's been trying so hard to avoid all night. There's a small smile on the lips that fall below those eyes. Santana doesn't return it. "Sorry?"

"The coffee. It sucks. Trust me, you don't want to drink it." The woman, Brittany if Santana remembers correctly, reaches over her shoulder and picks up a tea bag. Santana tries to swallow her soft gasp at the nearness of the body behind her. The arm reaching over her shoulder, the blonde hair brushing her arm and her neck, the _scent_ of the woman...it's overwhelming. And in a second, after the tea bag is dropped into her cup, it's gone. Brittany steps back and nods to the other dispenser that is filled with hot water. "Tea's better for you anyway."

Santana takes a further step from Brittany and rolls her eyes. "Don't remember asking for your help," she snaps.

"Yeah...don't expect you to yet," Brittany shrugs. "No one knows how to ask for help at first." Her voice is soft and almost soothing, as though she's telling Santana a secret, but Santana doesn't want to let it in.

"Is that some kinda crack at me needing to be here? Cuz I don't." She plops her cup under the hot water and fills it up. She ignores the fact that she's doing just as she was advised anyway.

The woman's lips turn to that knowing half-smile that Santana already hates. "Okay," she nods. She picks up a cookie and wanders off, and all Santana can do is watch her go. She doesn't like the way her eyes are stuck on the blonde, as though she can't look away. She doesn't like that the thrumming in her head has moved to her heart and is causing it to beat faster than it has all night. She especially hates that she can still smell Brittany around her. Something soft, sweet, but also a little spicy. Not only can she still smell it, but she feels it in her stomach; the scent curling her insides.

_Fuck_. She doesn't want to be here. Fucking Quinn and her fucking threats. She brings the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of the hot drink in her hand as she wishes it were something stronger. Her eyes are still on Brittany and she almost doesn't realize it. She watches as the other girl stops to speak to an older woman. What was her name? Yvonne. And she watches further as a young man comes over to them, holding a cane, and forces it into Brittany's hand. Santana's eyes narrow as she watches the guy, and she shoves away the pounding of what someone might consider jealousy. It's not jealousy, it's just curiosity. She wasn't oblivious to the way Brittany had limped away, and she knew from hearing Brittany talk earlier that something had happened to her physically, but as she watches Brittany take the cane and lean on it she realizes there's a lot more to the story. Instantly she wants to know what's there. She tries to convince herself it's just morbid curiosity.

She edges a couple of steps closer to the small group where they stand, and she wraps an arm under the opposite arm that holds her tea.

"Next time I see you walkin' around without that I'm gonna take it and beat you over the head," Yvonne says with a pointed look at Brittany.

Brittany smirks and shakes her head. "I'm fine. You guys worry too much."

"Of course we do," the man says. Santana can't remember what his name is, but she knows she doesn't like him. She doesn't like the way he stands so close to Brittany or the way he looks at her like she's some kind of angel. He's not even _attractive_. Not enough to be worthy of standing at the blonde's side.

Not that she thinks Brittany's gorgeous or anything. Not in that way. It's just a fact that this guy isn't on her level. It's already been established that Brittany is, like, model pretty.

Brittany shoots the man a little smile and reaches out to squeeze his forearm. "Thanks David, but I'm fine. Really."

He meets Brittany's gaze somberly and gives her a look like this is something they've argued about before. "You don't have to prove anything to us, Britt." He reaches that arm out and circles it around her shoulders, and she leans into him.

"I know," she sighs. Then she softly murmurs something that Santana can't make out. Santana rolls her eyes and walks away, because she doesn't even know why she's trying to hear what they have to say.

They return to the meeting after the break and Santana continues to sit quietly and listen to everyone. She keeps her eyes off of Brittany for the rest of the evening. Until, that is, she's shrugging into her coat at the end, and the blonde stops beside her.

"Hi," Brittany says, her voice warm. It seems like she went from being one person to another just in the course of the meeting, and that alone intrigues Santana. Is this place really that magical to the other girl? Why?

Santana gives a slight nod. "Hey."

"A few of us usually go out for some real coffee after meetings. We...don't really talk about all of this, just...you know, hang out. If you wanna come..."

"Uh.." Her eyes shoot to the door where Yvonne, Dave, and a few other people are standing together talking. She really doesn't want these people to think she wants to be friends with them, because she doesn't. She wants nothing to do with any of them or these stupid meetings, and she definitely doesn't want to hang out with them.

But then Brittany nudges her shoulder and her smile widens a bit. It's bright, and Santana can't look away. Something about that smile creeps under her skin and warms her up in more ways than one. "Come on," Brittany says. "It's a good come down."

Santana gulps slightly at the choice in words, but finds herself nodding. "Sure." She doesn't know that any other word could come from her lips right now with the way the blonde is looking at her. She hates it.

* * *

**A**/**N: **_I would like to start off by saying that I know little to nothing about AA, and will be trying to write it to the best of my ability without over dramatizing it or doing it wrong. Please don't send me hate if it's not 100%. Due to the content, yes this will be an angsty and (extremely) slow-burn fic. If you don't like that you can stop here and I won't be offended. (Though I promise it won't be all angst!) When I say slow-burn, I really mean it. Considering their situations it's just how it has to be, but that's not to say there won't be leading. Finally, I'm not writing this as a "lol let's write them as drunks for fun!". I'm writing it for the healing, and how they both have to find acceptance in who they are. I see this as an extreme case of what they would be like had they not met sooner in life. That being said, I don't want to unintentionally trigger anyone with the content in this story, so if you're concerned about where it's going, feel free to PM me here or reach me on Tumblr – frayedattheends – and I will tell you what led each of them to where they are so that you can decide if you want to continue._

_Long author's note is long, I apologize, but I want to take the story and it's readers seriously. Should any further questionable content arise, I will offer a warning and get-out-of-jail-free card. Now go forth and read. (And reviews are always awesome along the way.)_


	3. Chapter Two

Walking down the city sidewalk tonight with some of the people that know her better than anyone else in the world, after clearing her muddled thoughts out aloud, is one of the greatest feelings ever. Brittany feels lighter, and she loves the hints of warm weather that can be felt even at this hour. There's something about Spring that always makes her happier as it is.

Yvonne and Gary are several steps ahead talking as they leisurely stroll, Dave is at her side, and the new girl Santana is trailing slowly behind them. She glances over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure she's even still there, but she is. The girl is quiet and keeping to herself with her arms wrapped around herself tightly and her eyes on the ground. Dave looks back too.

"She's not a puppy, Britt," he whispers. "You sure it was a good idea to invite her?"

Brittany gives him a look and a slight shove. "She needs us."

He shrugs and bumps his shoulder back into her, hitting her good left side. "Who are you, Mother Theresa?" A teasing smile lights up his features and she laughs.

The laugh comes heartily and her lips are bright in a smile. "If anyone adopts puppies it's you," she teases back. Instead of pushing him again she slides her arm through his and gives it a squeeze. "Face it, Karofsky. You're a big teddy bear."

"Hey. Don't ruin my rep, Pierce," he says gruffly, though she knows he's joking still.

She reaches out and pinches his cheek lightly as she laughs again. Friendship with him wasn't always so easy. Liking him wasn't always so easy. He had come a long way since they had first met, and Brittany is proud now to call him her friend. When he started coming to meetings almost two years ago he was dealing with his guilt and shame of the boy he used to be. He had wanted so badly to rise up and be better, but he had been too trapped in hating himself to even try. With the group's help he slowly started to forgive himself as he sobered up, and in it he lost the chip on his shoulder and quickly charmed Brittany into friendship. She's pretty sure she would have hated him had they known each other when they were younger, when they were both someone else, but now she absolutely adores him. She even tries her best to find him a boyfriend, but he still gets bashful on the subject. It's actually pretty adorable.

He pushes her hand away and glances over his shoulder at their new friend the shadow again. "She's cute," he murmurs. He too spends a lot of time trying to hook Brittany up.

"And so tightly wound I can't read a damn thing yet, so drop it." She gives him a look. Besides, she doesn't pick people up from their meetings; man or woman. It's so off-limits for her that she doesn't even see anyone there in that way. He just smirks at her which gets him another light shove. He knocks back and she shouts out to the people ahead of them.

"Von! Catch!" She tosses her cane before the woman even turns around, and it clatters to the ground as she grabs Dave and pulls him to a stop. He knowingly crouches down and helps her up onto his back.

Yvonne picks up Brittany's cane as she shakes her head at the two. "You're such children," she says, though it's said lovingly.

"Let's go!" Brittany gives him a smack on the shoulder. "Forward!" Dave grins and starts running ahead of the group as Brittany holds on tight with a shriek. She grips onto him tightly, laughing.

God, she loves these people so much.

* * *

Santana watches as the two people in front of her whisper to each other and nudge each other. She watches Brittany's arm go through his, watches her snuggle close to the man, and soon watches as she hops on his back and the two take off in shouts and laughter. Her eyes roll and she hugs herself tighter. Why is she going with these idiots? That's what they all are, idiots. Don't they realize people are staring at them? Don't they care?

But she can't take her eyes off of Brittany and Dave as they get further away from the group. She tells herself it's because she can't believe how they're acting. She tries to ignore the way the blonde's laughter is getting to her. It doesn't annoy her, but it does strike a match of jealousy inside of her. What would it be like to be the person to make the woman laugh like that?

What does it matter? She doesn't care. She really doesn't. And she's not staring at the girl's ass either, now better in her line of sight due to being up in the air, as she and the others catch up to the two at the corner. She quickly looks to her feet and clenches her jaw tighter. Must be nice for the two to have met how they did.

She assumes, of course, that the two are boyfriend and girlfriend. Or at least flirting their way there. What the blonde sees in the big oaf, Santana can't be sure.

"Stop thinkin' so much, honey. It'll give you wrinkles."

She looks up and sees Yvonne at her side offering her a warm and patient smile. The woman appears to be in her early forties, hair pulled back in a bun, and her dark skin showing more wrinkles than she should probably have at her age. Her eyes look tired and warn, but still gentle. She looks like a librarian, small glasses on her nose and all. Santana's snap reaction is to offer a snippy comment in return, but instead she shrugs and says nothing. All caught up to each other the group crosses the street and Yvonne keeps at Santana's side.

"This is where we let everything that happened in the last two hours melt off of us and breathe fresh, new air," the woman says as she watches ahead. Brittany is still on Dave's back and they're ahead with Gary at their side. The other man is older than even Yvonne, but Santana isn't sure just how old. All she knows is that he doesn't talk much. Less than even her. She still doesn't reply to the woman beside her, but listens. "We're here for you. Just remember, we've all been through it already. We know."

It's this that makes Santana's eyes fall into that familiar glare and she tips up to aim it at the woman. They don't know. They haven't been through what she has. They have no idea. "Don't assume you know me, lady."

They arrive at the diner that's their destination and Brittany hops off of Dave's back to grab the door and hold it open for everyone. Dave walks in, followed by Gary, and then Yvonne. Santana stops at the door and glances to the blonde. She's not sure she even wants to stay with them now. She doesn't know what she's doing. These people aren't her friends and she doesn't want them to be.

The blonde frowns slightly at her. "What's wrong?"

"I...I just remembered I have this thing to do. I can't...I have to go." She shoves her hands into the pockets of her light jacket and takes a step backwards. Brittany lets go of the door and takes that step closer to Santana. The brunette doesn't like the way the air changes between their bodies. Static. Hot static.

"Are you sure?" The voice is sweet and gentle with concern. It's not a tone that she hates as per usual. On this woman it's...nice. Only further proof she needs to get the hell away from these people.

"Yeah. Thanks." She turns on her heel to go, but a hand comes to her elbow. She yanks her arm away and holds her elbow close to her body as she whips around. Is she the only one that felt the shock of heat that struck between them when Brittany touched her? Probably, judging by the unchanged blue eyes. Fuck.

"Look, take my number okay? Just in case?" Brittany holds out her hand for Santana's phone, and she reluctantly hands it over. "I know there's a whole week til the next meeting so if you need someone to talk to, or...if you're tempted to..you know, go out for a drink. You can call me." She types her number into Santana's phone and hands it back to her. "Or if you don't feel comfortable talking to me I can find someone for you, just...you're not alone, okay?"

Santana's hooked on the words until that last part, and she just snorts and shakes her head. "You don't know me either, Stumbles," she says, a little too darkly. She snatches her phone back and walks away. She walks away from Brittany, and the diner, and those stupid fucking meetings as fast as she can.

What the hell do any of them know anyway? She doesn't have a problem. The only reason she can't stop is because alcohol is the only thing that makes everything else stop. It makes the thoughts stop, it makes the feelings stop. Even more, it gives her an excuse to hide behind when she wakes up in the bed of a strange woman. _Woman_ being the operative word there. She's not gay, she just makes mistakes sometimes when she drinks too much. At least that's what she tells herself and her conquests.

* * *

Brittany watches Santana go as she still feels the bitter shock of the words wash over her. _Stumbles_. She may as well have called her a cripple. Her fingers grip tighter to her cane and she takes a deep breath. She reminds herself that the girl is dealing with a lot, and that she's obviously very angry. She shouldn't take it personally.

But she kinda does. She's very sensitive about her leg, and Santana had no right to call her that when she was just trying to help. With a huff she goes into the diner and falls into the booth beside Yvonne.

"What happened?" Dave asks, looking for their newest member.

"She went home," Brittany replies simply, grabbing a menu.

"She gonna be okay?" Yvonne asks with concern on her face.

"I don't know. She's a big girl." Brittany tries to sound apathetic, but she knows there's a hint of bitterness in there, and she also knows that she can't pretend she doesn't care. For some reason she does. And it's not just because of how beautiful the girl is.

* * *

She's tearing the kitchen apart. The fridge is open wide with the crisper drawer, where she usually keeps her beer, hanging out of it. Empty. It's empty, the wine bottles from the top of the fridge are gone, and the cabinet where they keep their liquor behind the coffee holds only coffee.

"Goddammit Quinn!" She shouts at the roommate who also cannot be found. It's that moment that the front door opens and closes, and Santana charges towards it. Quinn startles slightly at the sight of Santana suddenly appearing, but that fades and her brow raises slowly.

"Hey. How was-"

"What the fuck did you do?"

"Sorry?"

"No. Cut the innocent act. What the _hell_ did you do with it all?"

Quinn sighs as she shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it up in the closet. "I'm assuming you're asking about the alcohol that you're no longer supposed to be drinking? I took it to Sam's."

"You _what_? You gave that trouty-mouthed moron _my_ beer? I don't even let him drink it when he comes over!" She yanks open the closet that Quinn had just shut and gets her own jacket out.

"Where are you going?" The tone from her roommate and best friend sounds tired, but it barely registers to Santana.

"I'm gonna visit Lemon-Head and his Gay Boy-Wonder roommate."

"No you're not." Quinn's arms cross and she leans back against the front door. The look on her face clearly wants the brunette to challenge her, and Santana is only too happy to comply.

"Oh don't think you'll win, Fabray. We both know I kick your ass every time."

"I'm not letting you leave," she replies simply.

"What are you, my mother?"

"No. I'm your roommate, whose name is on this lease, and who will toss everything you own out into the hallway if you go over there. If you go anywhere, actually."

Santana's eyes set in a glare. "You-..you can't-.."

"I can't _what_?" The question bounces back to her sharply. "I can't be concerned about you? I can't be sick of finding you passed out in front of our door or on the living room floor and not knowing if you're even alive?! Or can I not keep sitting here on nights you don't come home while wondering if maybe this is the time I'll get a call from the cops?" Quinn's eyes are narrow as she drops her arms and steps closer to her friend. "Huh? You tell me, Santana. Tell me how this is going to go, because right now it's up to you."

"No one told you to care!" She hates the desperation that comes in that shout, because she wants Quinn to care. She _needs_ Quinn to care. Then at least someone would.

"Unfortunately, I have no choice." The blonde's reply is quieter as she returns to her reserved tone.

"_Fuck_, Fabray!" Santana shoves down the lump in her throat and the tears threatening her eyes. It hurts. All of this hurts and all she wants is a drink. Something to numb it all away, something to make her happy. To forget. She spins away with her words to hide her face from Quinn, and her fingers jam into her eyes to further stop any oncoming emotion. "Fuck," she says in a smaller voice. Her hand is shaking as she pulls it from her face and takes a deep breath.

Tonight was too much. She can stop, she knows she can stop, but tonight was just too much. Listening to everyone talk, almost letting them think she's like them, and meeting..- no. No. Her head shakes slowly as she looks to her roommate again.

"You can't expect me to stop cold like this."

"What? I thought you didn't have a problem. If you don't it should be easy to quit."

She hates that testing look in the hazel eyes, and she squares her shoulders back. "It's not a problem."

"If it is...we can find other ways. There are places that-"

"I don't need _rehab_." Santana spits the word out like it's poison, or a word too ridiculous to even tumble off her lips.

"Then go to bed."

Something changes in her and her eyes soften to look pleadingly at Quinn. "I'm fine. Why don't you see that?"

Again Quinn moves closer, and this time she doesn't stop until she's right in front of Santana. Her arms fall from her chest again as she reaches a hand up to hold her friend's cheek. She looks directly into the brown eyes across from hers. "You're not fine," she says gently. "Why don't _you_ see that?"

Santana's eyes close, killing that connection, but she doesn't pull away. That's easy. She doesn't see it because she doesn't want to. Admitting she has a problem would mean admitting there's a reason she drinks, and admitting that would mean...it would mean all the thoughts and feelings she tries so hard to drown might be real. And that is something she _can't_ deal with. At all.

Her head slowly tilts out of Quinn's hand, and she takes a step back with her eyes on her feet. "If you gave one crap about me you'd let me do this my way." And with those words she turns to walk off to her room. Getting the last words in is a fight they always have, and she likes winning that fight. She doesn't though, because as soon as her hand hits the knob on her door she hears Quinn's voice follow her down the hall.

"If I didn't give one crap about you I'd let you drink yourself dead."

She let's her have it this time. The win. She can't anymore.

She steps into her room and closes the door, but leans back against it. She can't do this. She can't _feel_ and _think. _She can't breathe. She sits herself down right there in front of the door and continues to let it support her weight. She grips her hands together, willing the shaking to stop, and she closes her eyes. How the hell is she supposed to breathe now?

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," Brittany calls out as she steps through the front door.

"One minute!" The voice comes from down the hallway, and Brittany smiles as she moves into the living room and onto the couch. It's been a long day with a lot of walking and she's sore. She closes her eyes as she lifts her leg onto the ottoman and rests it against the long pillow they keep there for her. She pulls up her pant leg and starts to massage her aching limb. "How was it?"

Brittany looks up as her roommate Rachel flounces into the room and seats herself on the other end of the couch. The smaller girl folds her legs underneath herself and Brittany gives her a tired smile. "Good. I feel better."

"Oh good!" Rachel claps once and grins. "You look better. I mean, not that you didn't look okay before, but now you look less grumpy. I like you less grumpy."

The blonde can't help but chuckle as she leans her head back on the couch and closes her eyes. "I know you do. I'm sorry if I was a bitch to you this week."

"No, no, no. Don't concern yourself with that. I have lived with you long enough to accept your moods and not take it personally. Most of the time. We both know I'm not always the..easiest person to be around. I dare say I even have my moments of being a...well, a bit of a witch."

Another chuckle and Brittany turns her head to look at her friend. "I love you, Rach."

Rachel blushes and looks down to her hands before looking back up, clearly a little flummoxed. She usually is when Brittany gets especially sappy. "Yes, well. I love you, too. Even when you're being a bitch."

Now a full laugh bounces off of Brittany's lips and her body twists slightly with that laughter. "You said it! You said it!"

"No! I-...Fine, I did. I'm an adult. I can curse if I choose to." Brittany is still laughing and she reaches out to poke her roommate. Rachel swats her off. "I, however, choose not to most of the time. And as I was simply quoting you, it's really a moot point."

"What does cussing have to do with cows?" The blonde asks a bit blankly.

Rachel just rolls her eyes. "I can see you have your sense of humor, or lack there of, back. I can now rest easily."

"Ouch, you even insulted me." Brittany swings herself around on the couch and drops her head on Rachel's lap while letting her leg stretch out along the couch. Rachel's fingers fall into blonde hair on reflex and she comfortingly strokes it.

"As the saying goes, if you can't take the heat stay out of the kitchen."

Brittany smiles and closes her eyes at the feeling on her scalp as she starts to relax. "Speaking of bitchy, I met someone tonight."

"Oh?"

"I can't say much else, but...she's...I don't know." Brittany can feel herself start to get sleepy. "She's something."

"I assume since you can't tell me that she's a part of your group. Need I remind you what a terrible idea it is to become interested in someone who-"

"I know, Rachel. I know. I'm not interested like that. She's just...I don't know." Her voice goes quieter in her relaxation. "I hope she comes back. She's really lost, and it's sad to see."

"Be her friend," Rachel replies gently. "You're very good at that."

Brittany feels Rachel's fingers stop and she pouts. "Heyyyy.."

"There is no possible way I can carry you to your bedroom if you fall asleep here, and sleeping on the couch will do your leg no favors. Let's go. Get up."

"You're really bossy sometimes, you know that?" Brittany grumbles as she sits up. She swings her legs off the couch carefully and stands. Rachel reaches out to tug the raised pant leg down Brittany's right leg before standing up and handing her her cane. Brittany doesn't even flinch when Rachel fixes her pants.

Aside from her doctors and her mother, Rachel is the only person that even occasionally sees Brittany's leg or is allowed anywhere near it. Brittany doesn't particularly like Rachel seeing her leg either, but it comes with living together and being so close. Rachel is another feeling of home for her.

Rachel smiles and starts off down the hallway. "I believe it's one of the things you love about me," she calls over her shoulder.

"No it's one of the things I put up with _because_ I love you," Brittany shoots back. She's smiling though as she makes her way to her own bedroom. She lets herself in and leans her cane by the door, then starts to strip the day's clothes from her body.

It's minutes later, when she's leaneing against her bed for support to pull her pajama pants on, that she hears her phone beep. She finishes dressing and sits on her bed where her phone had been tossed. She unlocks it and frowns at the number she doesn't recognize and the text that it brings.

** I'm sorry.**

Brittany settles in her bed and sits back against her headboard. She bites down on her bottom lip as she slowly types back and hits send.

_ Who is this and why are you sorry?_

** Santana.**

Oh. Sorry for that. Worry pulls Brittany's brows together as she wonders what she's supposed to reply with. She doesn't want to say it's okay, because it's not. She also doesn't want to scare the girl off if she's actually reaching out in _some_ way. She's in such a better mood right now she's not even sure she wants to possibly sour it, but again she can't just ignore the message.

* * *

Santana doesn't know why she's texting Brittany. She really doesn't. It took her nearly twenty minutes to drag herself off the floor and onto her bed, and now she's sitting on the edge of it staring down at her phone. She had needed something. Some kind of distraction to take her mind off of that which she really wanted, and the first thing she thought of was those blue eyes.

And the fact that she had been really out of line with the other girl earlier. The fact alone that she's apologizing feels weird to Santana, it's not usually her thing, but a part of her knows she has to. It's not like she wants to be the reason the blonde falls off the wagon or something.

Her heart jumps when her phone beeps with a reply. She ignores that feeling.

_ Was Stumbles really the best insult you could come up with?_

Santana's lips curl into an unexpected smile. As soon as she realizes it she tries to push it away, because she's really not sure why she's smiling. She bites the smile back as she replies.

** Is that a challenge?**

_ Just curious. You okay?_

** Why wouldn't I be?**

_ I'm serious. Are you okay?_

She's not sure how to answer that. She's not sure she wants to. But...for some reason she wants to keep texting the other woman. She hesitates before moving her fingers over her screen.

** Roommate made our apartment dry. Gave it all away.**

_ That's a good thing._

** Rude of her.**

_ Obviously she cares about you. You really will thank her some day. I promise._

** You're making me promises and I don't even know you.**

Santana may be getting them a bit off track, but she means to. She doesn't want to keep answering questions about the subject. She doesn't want to be told everything will get better or any of that bullshit. She just wants distraction.

_ You know my name's Brittany. You just want to be distracted don't you?_

How the hell does she know that? It's a bit creepy and disconcerting, but Santana lets it go for now.

** Yeah. You mind?**

_ No. How old are you? Where are you from?_

** 22. From Ohio. You?**

_ 26 and from Iowa._

** You definitely don't look 26.**

_ Is that a compliment?_

** It's whatever.**

She can feel herself wanting to flirt. She holds herself back and closes her eyes for a moment. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Talking to Brittany...to someone she doesn't know, someone who thinks she's...no. It's actually a really bad idea.

_ Seriously if you need someone to talk to we could meet up. It's what the group is for._

Santana stares at that message for a long time. She watches the minutes tick by on her phone, swiping it every time it darkens. Finally she pulls the conversation up and replies.

** I'm good. Sorry for bothering you.**

* * *

On another end of the city, Brittany is curled up on her side as she waits for Santana's reply. She doesn't know why she's so interested in continuing the conversation either, but she has convinced herself it's because she knows what the girl is going through and wants to be there for her. Even if it's just someone to have a seemingly pointless conversation with so that she doesn't drink.

Unfortunately this only works when the conversation is carried out, and right now it isn't happening. She hopes Santana has fallen asleep or something, or maybe found another distraction. She hopes she has someone there with her to help her through the night, because it's essentially night one and Brittany knows how hard that is.

She looks at her phone. It's been twenty minutes since she sent her last message.

_ You're not bothering me. I'm here for you._

Her eyes close, still tired from her long day, and she lets out a long exhale. She could call the girl and double check on her, but that might be taking a bit too far. No, Santana will reach out to her if she really needs it. Hopefully.

Or...hopefully she'll reach out to her just because.


	4. Chapter Three

They don't talk about how the first night she ends up sleeping in her roommate's bed, or that the second night she invites Puck over for a night of marathon sex (for which said roommate excuses herself from the apartment for the evening). Words aren't exchanged when on the third morning her roommate finds remnants of beer bottles around the living room. Her roommate stays quiet even later that night when the other girl is in her bed yet again, this time her body rocking with silent sobs. It's the fourth day that the silence is broken and they're both reminded of where their week began.

Santana comes in after a long day working at the make-up and beauty supply store, one of two jobs, and finds Quinn sitting rigidly in the living room. Her perfectly pressed skirt is dangling over her crossed legs, and her manicured nails are resting lightly on her knees. To her left Sam is drumming his fingers on his leg while his eyes flick all over the apartment nervously. Blaine is sitting in the Lay-Z-Boy with his arms crossed, and he too is staring straight at Santana.

She blinks and steps further into the apartment only to find Puck sitting on the floor by the hallway with his chin in his hand. And there standing in front of them all is Emma. Santana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me." She turns to walk right back out the door, but Quinn calls out to her before she can.

"You're on strike one, Santana."

"Excuse me?" She whips back around, her eyes narrowed. "What am I? A child?"

"You get three strikes," Quinn says in a calm and direct voice. "After that you can either move out or check yourself into a rehab program. Three strikes to do this your way."

"Wow," Santana laughs darkly and crosses her arms over her chest. "So what is this? My intervention?"

"No. I brought the guys over to explain to them that you're not drinking anymore," Quinn directs that comment towards Puck, and they seem to have a silent argument with their eyes. Finally Puck looks up to Santana.

"I didn't know. _You_ didn't tell me."

Santana shrugs carelessly. "I forgot."

"We won't," Blaine says.

"Who even invited you, Sir Spackle-and-Gel?" Santana rounds on him. "We're not friends." Blaine sighs at the attack and sits back again quietly. "And what about you? Why the hell are you here?" She turns on Emma this time, her eyes narrowed even more than before.

The woman clears her throat and smooths out her flowered dress. "Uh, well...Quinn asked me to-to, um.." She shrinks back slightly under the brunette's glare, but Quinn jumps up to her side.

"I asked her to be here. She's had to clean you up from the hallway before also, and she can help keep an eye on things if I'm not home. She's also a counselor so she...I don't know. I thought it might be nice if you had someone else you could go to." Quinn just sounds defensive and tired now.

"Oh great a babysitter," Santana says dryly. She looks over at Sam. "What about you? Got anything to add?"

Sam finally meets her gaze. He shifts a bit awkwardly in his seat before sitting up straighter. "We care about you, Santana," he says gently. "You can hate us for it, but we do."

She holds that gaze a couple of beats too long and she feels _feelings_ bubbling up in her throat again. She whips her eyes from Sam's and looks at her roommate again. "Fine. Three strikes and I'm out. What else? Wanna put me on house arrest, too? Get me an anklet and call me Madea?"

"No," Quinn says softly. "I want..." Her lips pinch shut tightly and she shakes her head.

"See what it is, you don't trust me." Santana shrugs again. "All you see is some fucked up mess of an alcoholic that you don't trust to stop when she says she will. The other night? That was one slip up. _One_. I think I've been pretty damn good all week."

The blonde's eyes don't waver from her roommate, but her hands grip together behind her back tightly. "That's not how I see you."

"Whatever. Are we done?"

Quinn just shakes her head before turning and walking down the hall. Puck scrambles out of her way and they all jump when her bedroom door is slammed shut. All eyes return to Santana.

"She's really worried about you," Puck says, getting to his feet. "Cut her some slack."

"Hey, Bar Slut." She sets her glare on him now. "We're not friends, either. Fuck buddies, yeah. Friends? No. Get the hell out of my apartment. All of you." Puck shoots a glare back at her as he grabs his leather jacket and pulls it on.

"Yeah, whatever," he says on his way out the door. "See where this shit's gonna get you."

Sam and Blaine exchange glances for a moment, but then they too get to their feet and make their way to the door. They don't bother saying anything to Santana on their way out, but Blaine does give Emma's shoulder a soft squeeze. When the door shuts and the last two remain, Emma turns to Santana.

"I know you think of me as your silly, crazy neighbor, but...I do deal with things like this for a living, Santana. If you need help...well, you know where to find me." She picks up her purse from the coffee table and keeps her eyes on her light pink heels as she gathers herself together. Santana says nothing so Emma heads for the front door. It's when she opens it that Santana finally replies.

"I found an AA group," she says quickly. "Er, well...Quinn did."

Emma turns around, her wide eyes a bit brighter. "And you're going to go?"

"Yeah...guess so." Santana shrugs and looks down.

"Oh! Good. Then...I hope it helps you. I really do."

"Thanks," she mutters in response.

"Goodnight, Santana."

"Night." Santana gives a slight nod and closes her eyes as she listens to the front door close as well.

She's suddenly completely aware of how alone she is in the apartment with Quinn, and she further realizes how little she wants to be here. There's a thick smog of awkwardness floating between all of the rooms. It's not something she can deal with. Not sober anyway.

But she can't drink, as badly as she wants to, because she isn't going to rehab. And she isn't moving out. Her chin sets stubbornly and she shakes her head. Okay, so she won't drink. Doesn't mean she can't go out anyway.

* * *

She stands in a corner of the club beside one of the columns that hold up the second level dance floor above. One hand is pressing to the column, palm flat, while the other grips to the head of her cane. Her eyes are shut as she feels the beat of the music, the heat of the bodies, thrum through her. The column shakes under her touch and the floor sends shock waves through her legs. She hears the music, she feels it, and her body itches to move to its beat. In her mind she can see herself moving on the dance floor. She sees where her hands would be, her feet, and she sees the way her hips would move. It's there. It's so close that for this moment alone she feels like she could let go and move. Like she wouldn't feel a thing. She would be back in that perfect, blissful place of being outside of her body. Her stupid, broken body.

It's torture. It's torture bringing herself here when she can't dance, but there's always a moment of peace before the heartache. That moment when she feels it all, hears it all, and can almost _be_ it. She can almost touch it. It's a moment that she aches for like a drug when she tries to deny herself of it.

"You know, most people come to these places to dance."

Brittany opens her eyes to immediately see a gorgeous older blonde woman. She's beautiful, and it's easy to tell that she knows it. She stands before Brittany, but her body is still rocking to the beat of the music that surrounds them. Usually this might be where Brittany smirks and pulls the woman onto the dance floor, lets their bodies get as close as possible while running her touch...everywhere, but usually was a long time ago. Another Brittany ago.

"I like watching," Brittany replies, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. She'll let the woman take that however she likes.

"No touching?" The woman steps closer and leans a hand to the column over Brittany's shoulder and Brittany just smirks up at her.

"I'm all for touching, too."

"Mm, how about you buy me a drink?"

Brittany laughs lightly. "Shouldn't _you_ be offering to buy _me_ a drink?"

"Well.." The woman's fingers drop down to finger a lock of Brittany's hair. "If I did, you might say no. I already know I won't."

"Okay," she laughs again, conceding. "What if I offer to buy you a drink of my choice? What would you say?"

"I'd say absolutely. I'm Holly."

"Brittany."

"Nice to meet you, Brittany." And with that Holly turns and pushes through the crowd to walk toward the bar.

When Brittany reaches the bar she finds Holly already leaning against it while she watches Brittany walk up. Without making a comment about Brittany's walking or cane, Holly pulls out a stool for her. "Pop a spot, gorgeous."

Brittany settles down on the stool. "Thank you." She glances at the bar in time to see Puck walk in from the back room. She calls his name loudly and he wanders over. His usual smirky grin is only a gentle smile tonight, and she knows immediately that something isn't right.

"There's my favorite peg-leg pirate," he jokes when he gets to them. He leans over the bar to give Brittany a kiss on the cheek. From him the remark doesn't bother her, because it's said with a certain amount of love and she knows it.

"I'm your only peg-leg pirate, Puckerman," she says with an eye roll and smile. "Can we get two Shirley Temples?"

"Whaat? Seriously?" Holly tries to pout to Brittany, but it doesn't work. The younger blonde just grins.

"You said I could pick."

"Okay..." Holly nods. "Shirley Temple. I can be down with that." She looks at Puck and throws a hand up in the air. "You heard the girl! Two Shirley Temples!"

"You got it," he nods.

"Everything okay?" Brittany asks him, before he can walk off.

"Long night," he shrugs.

It's not the best time or place to talk about things so Brittany lets him go with that. It's not often she sees him quiet, and she's not sure what to make of it.

"So. Don't drink either?" Holly asks, leaning in close to Brittany's ear.

"Nope."

"You don't dance, you don't drink...how do you have fun?" Her arm drapes Brittany's shoulders and her hip knocks against her. Brittany looks her body over appreciatively. Her eyes slowly raise up Holly's body and meets her eyes with a knowing smirk.

"I find other ways to have fun."

"Mmm? Tell me more," Holly chuckles, pulling up a stool.

* * *

She knows when someone is throwing themselves at her, and sometimes she really doesn't mind. Especially not when that someone looks like Holly looks and dances like Holly dances. So yeah, she's a little loud and wild, but she's hot. And she's been making Brittany laugh all night. It's been awhile since she's laughed this much and it feels good.

So it's really no big surprise when she's leaving the bar with the older woman on her arm. Holly stuck to non-alcoholic drinks for the night with Brittany, and she finds herself really appreciative of the fact. She doesn't like hooking up with people that have been drinking, she's had enough of drunken sex days, and now she likes when someone soberly chooses to sleep with her. Plus she really likes to avoid tasting drink in someone's kiss.

As they stumble onto the sidewalk in front of the bar in laughter, Holly reaches over and takes Brittany's cane for a moment. She spins it in her hand impressively. "So...ever spank anyone with this?"

"Spanking is mean," she replies, taking the cane back from the woman. She leans on it again. "Besides, I think I'd rather use my hand."

"Ooh, keep talkin' dirty to me," Holly laughs. She tugs Brittany a bit towards the left and wraps her arm tight around the younger woman's waist. "Or just tell me what else you like doing with these hands." She takes one of Brittany's hands in her free one and weaves their fingers together while raising her brows.

"But that'd be spoiling," Brittany answers.

"Okay, no spoiling. I think the better question is...your place or mine?" Holly stops them and turns slightly to face Brittany. Brittany reaches out to keep Holly from running into the people passing by, or to keep them from running into her, and pulls her in closer.

"My roommate is home."

"Okayyy, my place then." Holly starts walking backwards, and Brittany tugs her again before she actually does hit someone.

"Watch where you're going," she says, laughing. She happens to glance up, over Holly's shoulder, and her eyes connect with the person Holly had almost backed into. Her gaze widens slightly. "Santana!"

Santana seems to recognize Brittany at the same moment, and her eyes dart back and forth quickly between the two blonde women. "Uh...hi," she replies.

"How are you?"

Holly turns to watch the exchange and leans in closer to Brittany.

"Um...fine," Santana says with a nod.

"Cool." Brittany's arm is being tugged by Holly and she looks over to her companion and nods. She glances back to Santana. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah...guess so," the young woman nods.

"Great! Okay, see you!" Brittany waves as she's pulled down the sidewalk. She keeps looking over her shoulder though and holds Santana's gaze. The brunette watches her go for a moment before turning and continuing on, and Brittany keeps watching her as she walks away. It takes her a moment to pull herself back into the moment and back to Holly.

* * *

Santana blinks to herself after the run in with Brittany, and she tries to push it away. Something about it hammers at her heart though, and she's not sure why. She was pretty certain Brittany had been with that Dave guy, but here she was stumbling around the sidewalks wrapped up against another woman. So is Brittany gay? Santana snorts. Like she cares. She doesn't.

She finds herself coming to a stop in front of the club that Puck works at, a club she frequents, and she stares at the door. The bouncer is already smiling at her and motioning her to the front of the line, but she can't move. Acid bubbles in her stomach just looking at the guy. Someone else she's thrown herself at, shamelessly fucked, because why not?

God she wants a drink.

Her eyes close and her head shakes slightly. No, she's fine. She doesn't want a drink. Only an alcoholic would think that, and she's not. She can make it without a drink. She'll be fine. She hugs herself and turns to continue down the sidewalk. She really isn't sure where to go, because all the places she would go, the people she would see, all tie into partying and drinking. She knows enough to know that if she goes near any of it she'll be drunk before the night is through. And she can't lose her apartment.

Who the fuck does Quinn think she is? No. No, she doesn't need Quinn. She doesn't need Quinn's stupid apartment or stupid rules. She's a grown ass woman and she can do as she pleases. If that means she has to find a new roommate, so be it. If she wants to drink she will.

She turns again and heads back towards the club, and halfway back she stops. No. Puck's working. After earlier and the things she said to him...he won't serve her at this rate. Not since Quinn had to open her big mouth. He might even call Quinn and rat her out. Okay, so she'll just go to another bar. It's not like she doesn't have a million to choose from, this is New York fucking City for crying out loud.

Yeah. She'll go to a bar. She'll drink, she'll meet someone – a guy – and she'll have a blast. A good heterosexual ol' time.

She starts in the direction of another bar she likes, and she feels like she's on top of the world. She's in power. She's always in power, because she's Santana Lopez. People don't mess with her. They know better. And if they don't, they soon learn. She doesn't need anyone telling her she's weak. She's not. Not like those other losers at that meeting. Not like...

Brittany.

Now all she can see in her mind is blonde hair. Blonde hair, perfect blue eyes staring at her like they can see into her every thought, lips...lips that look so gentle, so inviting...

Fuck.

No.

She needs to drink. She needs to drink _now_.

She makes it to the bar and through the door, she makes it up to the bartender, and she freezes. He's waiting for her order, and she knows what to shout for, but it doesn't come out. Something gnaws deep down at her, something that she doesn't understand, and it's telling her to turn and walk away. Why? She's already decided she doesn't care. That she'll live her life how she wants to. She's decided that she has to drink and drown out the thoughts in her head, because they don't belong there. They're not right.

"Hey Santana."

She turns and eyes a woman with short, red hair and she gulps. She had made that specific drunken mistake a few times over with her. Not that she remembers it, of course. She was wasted. (So she tells herself.) "Oh...hey," she manages to reply.

The woman, Santana never bothered to remember her name for a reason, slinks up close to her and smirks. "Haven't seen you in awhile."

Santana feels heat hit the base of her stomach and she takes a step backwards. "Uh..yeah," she mutters. "I, uh...actually hafta go."

"So soon?" The redhead pouts. "I was hoping we could have a drink and maybe..." Her smirk goes suggestive and her finger reaches out to trace down Santana's arm. It sends incredible shivers through the brunette and she shakes her head, moving out of reach again.

"Look, that..." her eyes dart around and she lowers her voice, leaning in only so she can speak. "That was a mistake, okay? I was drunk."

The girl gives her an amused stare, hand on her hip. "Honey, one time is a mistake, three isn't."

Santana doesn't know how to reply to that, and her eyes are stuck on the cleavage popping out of Red's top for a moment. She shakes herself out of it and sets her eyes in a glare. "I was drunk, I'm straight. Get lost." Then she spins on her heel and hurries out of the bar as fast as her heels will take her.

Her breath is starting to come fast and short through her lungs, and she tries her best to gasp for cool air once she's outside. She can't get it. Her heart is pounding erratically and no matter how many times she gasps she can't catch her breath. She can't get the street to stop spinning around her, and she can't pull her head from the heated cloud it's suddenly in.

This is what she has to drown out. This is what she has to push away. This is...

Barely even realizing she's doing it, she pulls out her phone and is searching Brittany's name and hitting call. She doesn't compute that she's doing it, and she wouldn't know why if she did. Something inside of her needs it though. She needs someone and this is the only person she can think of. (If she were honest with herself at all, she'd admit Brittany's all she's been thinking about as it is.)

"Hello?" The voice sounds far away and happy when Brittany answers. Santana leans herself against a wall of a closed up shop and holds her hand over her too fast heart. She wants to speak, she's trying to speak, but nothing is coming out. Her lips move wordlessly. Something large and thick is caught in her throat and it won't budge. It won't let words pass by, and she- she can't- can't breathe or think or- "Santana? Are you there?" Now the voice is starting to fill with concern, and that doesn't ease her at all. She feels hot tears stinging her eyes, because why the fuck is she calling this stranger? Why does she care? Why can't she- "Santana." Now Brittany's tone is harsh and direct. "Tell me where you are."

She's able to gasp out the bar's name, but nothing else. She can't say help. She can't say she wants a drink. She can't tell Brittany not to come. Because she wants Brittany to come. Beautiful, beautiful Brittany who seems so much stronger than her. Brittany who could hold her up and help her breathe.

(But she can't help her breathe, because Santana doesn't know how to catch her breath around the blonde. She doesn't know how to think around her. And where the fuck will that get her?)

"Stay on the line," Brittany says, and Santana nods. No matter that Brittany can't see that. Santana barely hears Brittany as she tells her new friend that she has to go somewhere, that she's sorry. Somewhere on the other end of that line the blonde is telling someone – a cab driver – where to go. And then the voice is in her ear again. "Santana...talk to me. Did something happen?"

Her eyes drop shut and she lets that question bounce around in her head. Did something happen? No. Not this time. But it did. Too many times. (But no, not enough times.) Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck she can't- she's not-... Brittany's words fill her ears and circle her mind, and her heartbeat starts to ease.

"I know it's hard to talk," Brittany says soothingly. "Let's talk about something else. What did you want to be when you grew up?" She only waits a beat before going on. "I wanted to be a lion tamer in the circus. I thought they were so cool and fearless, and I loved cats and I thought of lions as just gigantic cats." Brittany is starting to ramble and Santana focuses on the sound of her voice. "So when I was, like...ten, my parents took me to the circus and we sat up in the front row. I was so awestruck by it all, and I couldn't take my eyes off the lion. He was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen in my entire life. You know? Those moments when the world just stops and you have to wonder how on earth something so beautiful could exist?"

Santana can gather her breath at a more measured pace now, and the rock in her throat seems to be diminishing. Her hand falls from her chest and she wipes at the tears on her cheeks. She can hardly comprehend what Brittany's saying, but she likes listening. Her voice is so soft, so soothing...

A cab slams to a stop in front of her and Brittany jumps out, phone still to her ear, as she rushes over to Santana the best that she can. She quickly pockets her phone and reaches out for the younger girl's shoulder, but Santana yanks away from her reach.

"Okay, okay," Brittany nods and holds her hand up in surrender. "No touching." She takes a deep breath. "I knew after I left the circus that day that I was going to run away with the lions. Join the circus and get far away from my boring town and boring family, and I was going to see all the beautiful things in the world that I could see. I was determined."

Santana finally brings her eyes up to meet Brittany's as those words sink in. "What happened?" She asks in a slight pant.

"Life showed me the ugly things," Brittany replies softly. It sounds so sad, so heartbreaking, and Santana can't move her eyes from the blonde's face. Why should a child who had clearly seen so much possibility in the world ever have to see the other side of it? Why did either of them have to?

"I wanted to drink," she whispers after a few moments of silence.

"But you didn't," Brittany nods.

"I wanted to."

"I want to every day."

"You do?" Santana scopes Brittany's face for truth and sees it there in her eyes.

"Of course I do, but I don't do it. I don't because it's in my power not to give in."

She has to tear her eyes away. She has to stop staring at Brittany because this is exactly why she wants to drink. She watches her feet and that familiar wall starts to crawl back up around her. Her jaw tightens. "I don't because my roommate thinks I have a problem and'll kick me out if I do." She doesn't look up. She can't. If she looks up she knows Brittany will be looking at her with that pity look that they all look at her with. She doesn't want to see it.

"Okay," Brittany finally says after awhile. "How about a piece of pizza? I'm starving."

Now Santana does look up. "What?"

"Let's go get pizza. I'll buy."

"Why?"

"Because it was my idea, silly," Brittany smiles.

"No...why...why are you.."

"You called me," she says more seriously, more honestly. "Even if you didn't say anything, you were asking for my help. I'm giving it to you."

"I wasn't-"

"Pizza," Brittany says firmly. "Let's go." And she starts to walk away. Santana can't do anything but stare after her for a second, speechless, then move to catch up.

* * *

She still doesn't know why she wants to help this girl. She's a mess. Hell, Brittany knows she herself is still a mess. Sure, she's been sober for a long time, but she's not in the clear. She knows she'll never truly be 'recovered', but she's working on getting as close as she can to it. There's still darkness in her heart though, and that's something she's trying to let go of. There is no end to the journey she's on. At least she has finally accepted that.

And because of all of this, she's not sure that she's the right person to help Santana. She wants to. She wants to get the girl to come to meetings and talk and start on her path. She wants her to be a part of their community, and to _feel_ like she is. She's thinking about all of this as they both silently pick at their slices of pizza. She's keeping to herself, because she knows the other girl will speak – or not speak – when she wants to. It takes a good half hour, but Santana clears her throat.

"So. This, uh..." Brittany watches those brown eyes flit around the restaurant quickly. "This group. Is it all...ask God to fix you and shit?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head. "I mean...yes, the main concept of the official AA group and its program does come from a place of finding God or some sort of...spiritual awakening, but...with us, no one pushes it on you. We're not a direct chapter or whatever of them. It's not like there's a rulebook. Everyone finds a plan that works for them, and we help each other through. Some of us go through the twelve steps and some of us don't."

"Do you?"

Brittany bites her lip and pokes at the crust of her pizza. "Not strictly, but to a degree yes."

"What does that mean?"

She knows Santana is only curious, but the question sounds almost belittling, and she doesn't like it. "I have a plan that works for me, and I'm following it," she says simply. She's leaving it at that, because that's not what she's here for. "If you continue with us you'll start talking to everyone and figure out what you think will work for you. Sticking to the steps works for a lot of people, but I guess that depends on your thoughts on God and the spiritual world."

"Like...any higher being?"

Now the question sounds truly curious and Brittany's okay with that. She nods and looks up again. "Any higher power outside of yourself. It's like...waking up and realizing that there's more out there. There's a reason and a purpose. _You_ have reason and purpose, just by being here on Earth."

"Sounds kinda corny."

"Do you believe that now? That there's meaning to your life and you have a purpose for being alive?" She asks the question point blank, just like it had been asked to her years before. She even raises a brow.

Santana stares straight back at her for a moment, but lets her eyes fall. "I...I dunno," she mumbles, playing with her fingers.

"Don't you think knowing, believing that could help you make the right choices in life?" She watches as the younger girl's face twists in thought and she waits patiently. She can see the shadows darken over Santana's face as her head snaps up.

"How do _you_ know what choices I do or don't make in my life? It's not like I'm out of control."

She's defensive again, and Brittany had seen it coming. She just watches Santana with an even gaze and shrugs. "Do you believe that? That you're not out of control?"

"Yeah, I do."

Brittany nods slowly. "Okay."

Another long silence lapses between them and Brittany goes back to her food. She can feel Santana's eyes on her, but she doesn't look up. After a bit the girl speaks again. "What? You don't believe me?"

"I said okay," Brittany replies, still not looking up.

"Aren't you supposed to argue with me or something?"

Now she does look up, and she offers a small smile, a tired smile, to the girl. "What good is arguing with you when you've already convinced yourself of what you believe?"

Santana doesn't have a reply for that and returns to her own food as well, and again the two go quiet. They get through their food and sip at their waters. They stare out opposite windows and watch the world go by. Brittany lets her own thoughts bounce around in her head, and she's almost certain Santana is doing the same. There's something telling in those dark eyes that she can see, and she's not so sure she's comfortable with the fact that she can.

In the time it takes to go through two more glasses of water each, and for Santana to tear her napkin up into tiny pieces on her plate, the girl decides to speak again.

"How'd you end up in New York? From Iowa?"

"Oh...pretty typical. Small town girl runs away to a big city." She shrugs, and she sees the disbelief in Santana's eyes. She sees her waiting for Brittany to elaborate, so she takes a long breath and lets it out. "I didn't really know what I wanted to do with myself when I was in high school. I was wrapped up in dancing and cheerleading and my friends...I was happy, but I didn't have plans. I got called stupid a lot, by like...everyone, and I kinda believed it. I didn't have any really close friends, and the friends I did have...they thought I was stupid, too. And maybe I was." She shrugs dismissively, because really she's passed that now.

"So when I failed my senior year and they told me I'd have to repeat, I was kinda in this cloud. Like...okay, I have to do it again, whatever. I still didn't have plans to go to college or anything. Then not even a month into the summer I got a group e-mail from this girl I knew. We weren't really friends most of high school, but we were in a club together so we kinda got to know each other. But, um, well she was saying that she found this great apartment in New York, because she just up and moved here after graduation, and she really wanted it but couldn't afford it. I replied to her and told her I'd be her roommate." Another shrug. She smiles softly at the memory of Rachel freaking out, in a good way, that she wanted to move in with her.

"I realized I didn't want to sit through another senior year when...I didn't even care about school. I didn't want to go to college, and...I was tired of being the stupid girl. I knew I could do something in New York to make money, and...well, the only thing I was ever really good at was dancing. I mean. That's what I thought back then, and no one really tried to tell me otherwise. So I packed up and left. I moved in with Rachel, and...well, now she's still my roommate and she's my best friend."

She has to lift her water to her lips and take a long sip, because underneath her story there's still a lot of heartache, and there was so much more that happened between the years since she moved. Now, when she looks back, she wishes she had tried harder. She wishes she had _worked_ harder to graduate with Rachel, or even the next year. She wishes she had believed in herself more, because at the time she didn't really have anyone to do it for her, or to help her do it. She knows now that she was capable of doing so much more, of being so much more. She never should have settled for dance just because she thought it was all she was good at.

At the same time though, she can't live her life with those regrets, and she tries hard not to. She knows she has to accept where life's path has taken her and the things that she went through. She clears her throat and takes another sip of water.

"And then what?" Santana prods quietly.

Brittany looks at her over her water glass and shakes her head. "It's not time for you to hear my 'and then'," she answers. "We talk about our 'and then's when we're ready."

"O-okay. Sorry," the girl stutters. She shifts awkwardly and Brittany feels a little bad about it.

"Don't be sorry." She turns her lips into a reassuring smile and reaches out to place her hand over Santana's. Her smile falters slightly at the shock of heat she feels from the hand beneath hers, but she doesn't pull back. She pushes the smile back on before Santana can see; she hopes.

However Santana yanks her hand back and drops both into her lap. She looks away and licks her lips. Brittany tries to look anywhere but her lips, or her tongue, because it's not appropriate. She kinda can't help it though, they're like a magnet.

"I, uh, I gotta go. Home." Santana stutters again as she gets to her feet. "Thanks. For the pizza, and the.." She waves her hand in a slight circle, and Brittany nods. She understands.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"No! I mean...no. I'll be fine. I feel...a lot better. I'm not gonna go drink or whatever, so don't worry."

Brittany gets to her feet as well, pulling her cane down to her side. She tilts her head slightly to smile at Santana again. "I wasn't worried. I just thought I'd offer."

Santana slowly raises her eyes to Brittany's and they hold that gaze. She can see something questioning, something fighting inside of Santana's mind, but she doesn't know what it is. It's not her place to even ask. She worries though. She worries more than she probably should, and she feels herself starting to get lost in the girl's beautiful brown eyes...

"Bye." Santana says it forcefully, then flees quickly for the door. Brittany turns to watch her go and waits. She knows Santana wants to get out of there without any more interaction, and she's going to let her. She takes that moment to close her eyes and exhale.

This isn't like getting to know her other group members, she knows that. There's something different, and she isn't sure if that's good or bad. Either way? She senses she'll soon be returning to her fight for control in her life, and she knows it has everything to do with the young girl that just ran out on her.


	5. Chapter Four

**Trigger warning**: Talk of possible suicide, but not explicit and no self-harm shown.

* * *

_"Brittany. Brittany, can you hear me?" Rachel kneels down and brushes blonde hair from her best friend's face. Her eyes are closed and her face is paler than usual. Rachel frantically shakes Brittany's shoulder and leans in close. "Britt...Britt, wake up." So rare that Rachel calls her that nickname instead of her whole name. Fear is running through her like the thinnest water of a stream, and she puts her ear close to Brittany's nose. She holds her own breath and tries to calm herself, and she listens..._

_ The softest of breaths come against her ear and relief takes over. She jumps up and searches for her cellphone, quickly dialing 9-1-1._

_ "Hello, yes, please help me! My roommate, she's unconscious and- and she's alive but I don't-please! Please send someone!" Rachel's voice barely holds together as she goes back to her friend and drops to her side. Her thumb reaches out to gently stroke Brittany's clammy cheek. "Someone's coming," she assures the blonde, though she probably can't hear her. "Just hold on, someone's coming."_

* * *

Brittany lays flat on her back on the floor of her living room with her eyes closed. She counts her measured breaths; in and then out. Calmness blankets over her in a way it rarely ever does and she lets herself drown there.

The front door flies open, and with it her bouncy roommate and all of the energy she brings. "Brittany? Are you home?"

Her eyes open with a sigh. "Yeah," she calls out. She looks up at the ceiling and watches the fan spin in circles. Around, around, around...

"Are you okay?!" Rachel stops in the doorway from the hallway and looks at Brittany spread out on the floor.

"I'm fine." She tilts her head to give Rachel a reassuring smile. "Just relaxing."

Rachel nods slowly and Brittany notices that she's gone a bit pale. "All right, if you're certain."

"Very certain." Britt sits up and pulls her good leg up against her chest to hug it. "What's up?"

"Guess who just _killed_ at her audition?" The shorter girl beams with pride.

"Rach, you shouldn't kill people. That won't get you a job." Brittany knows exactly what Rachel meant, but she can't pass up teasing her in that dry tone. Rachel simply ignores it.

"We should go out and celebrate tonight, what do you say?"

"I don't know...I'm not really in the mood for karaoke."

"We won't go for karaoke." Rachel crosses the room as she takes off her jacket and sits on the couch to remove her shoes. "Anywhere you want. You pick."

"Anywhere?" Brittany grins.

"Yes, okay," Rachel says with a knowing sigh. "We'll go to _Red's_."

* * *

It's been three weeks since Santana went to her first AA meeting and she hasn't been back. She ignores any calls or texts that Brittany sends her until they stop coming. Twice a week though she leaves the apartment and tells Quinn she's off to a group meeting. Twice a week she lies and goes out for a drink instead.

She doesn't drink a lot when she goes out those nights, and those are the only times she drinks. Yes, she's lying to her friends, but she's cut back and that's what's important, right? She has control now. She doesn't have to give up the alcohol completely, because she controls it.

Control. She can control herself. She can control her drinking and she can control her desires. Fuck. What desires? She shoves them so far down that they don't even exist to her.

She's fine. She'll be fine.

(Except she's not, because every night she lays in bed wanting something to turn her thoughts off. She wants warmth inside of her that nothing else can warm, and she wants touch – she wants touch that she's not allowed to have – and she wants to stop wanting. Wanting is bad, wanting starts to take her control away, and she has to at least fake control. She has to fake being okay. She's good at faking, she's done it for so long. And no, no no no not tonight. She can't fake tonight, because tonight her abuela called her and it hurt. Talking to the woman always hurts. She hurts, and Quinn is out, and she should be out. She _wants_ to be out. She wants...she wants warmth, and she wants touch...she wants to text Brittany. She wants to see the older woman and be near her, she wants...fuck, shit, no. _No_.)

She's fine. She'll be fine.

* * *

"Britt! Rachel!" Mike comes up to them, his arm around his beautiful girlfriend, and gives both girls a wide grin.

"Hello Mike, hello Tina," Rachel greets politely, a drink already in her hand.

"Anyone else coming tonight?" Tina asks.

"Sugar might," Brittany answers before Rachel can. "And Kurt is...out there somewhere already." She waves at the crowd of people in the club.

"Awesome." Mike leans over to kiss Brittany's cheek. "How you feeling?"

"Fine," she answers, giving him a shove in the chest. She loves him, but he really doesn't have to ask her that every time he sees her.

(Only he does.)

_As soon as Rachel hangs up with 9-1-1 she calls the first person she can think of, because she can't do this on her own._

_ "Yo."_

_ "Mike!" Her voice comes out strangled as tears pool up in her eyes. "I need you to come over, right now. It's Brittany."_

_ "She okay? What happened? What happened, Rach?!"_

_ "I don't know! Please," her beg a slight whimper. "Please come over."_

_ Mike arrives even before the ambulance. He lives nearby, and the New York City ambulances often aren't immediate. Not when navigating through city traffic. He's through the door and calling for Rachel before she knows it, and she calls out from Brittany's bathroom._

_ He rushes in and also falls to their friend's side. He checks Brittany's breathing just as Rachel had done. "Did she take something?"_

_ "I've already done that!" Rachel snaps. "And I'm not sure, I only just got home and found her this way."_

_ He ignores her hostility and looks at his watch. "When did they say they were sending someone?"_

_ "Fifteen minutes ago."_

_ "We're not waiting." He scoops the blonde up into his arms and walks through the apartment with Rachel at his heel. _

_ "Aren't we supposed to wait and-and not move her?"_

_ "No, that's for dead bodies and she's not dead." He pulls his friend closer to his chest and kisses her forehead. "C'mon Britt, we'll get through this."_

_ Rachel locks the door behind them and follows Mike._

"I'm gonna go loosen up," Mike says. He looks to Tina. "You wanna come?"

"No, you go. I'm gonna get my drink on with Rachel. Just be careful and don't lead any boys on." She gives him a warning look.

Mike shrugs with a smile. "Hey, I can't help being the only hot straight guy in here." And with that he takes off into the crowd and towards the dance floor.

Brittany watches him go with a smirk and pushes away that constant desire to follow him. She doesn't even let herself close her eyes to remember the days they would own the dance floor, because they do her no good.

By the time she snaps to she realizes that Rachel and Tina have left her. They tend to do that when they want to have drinks, and while she misses getting the bonding time, she appreciates it. She picks up her water and takes a sip as she lets her eyes roam the bar. She catches a pair of hazel eyes on her and she smiles. At least when she's alone she can get her flirt on.

_Her eyes open slowly. They feel heavy and sore, and her mouth is dry. As the dark room around her begins to clear she quickly realizes she's not in her bedroom. She's not in any bedroom. She's...in a hospital room?_

_ She tries to bring her hand up to rub her face, but she can't. Her wrists are bound down to the bed. Immediately panic sets in and she looks around the room frantically. She doesn't like being held down. She doesn't like being unable to move. Both bring back too many bad memories, the kind she can't take._

_ There's movement in the room as someone gets up from a nearby chair and comes to her side. A warm hand reaches for her cheek and she yanks her head away. "What happened?" Her voice is hoarse and sore._

_ "You're...you're sick. But we're gonna get you better. We'll fix this."_

_ Mike's words don't comfort her at all and she shakes at the constraints around her wrists again. "Take these off. Take these off! Tell them to take them off!" Her panic rises into shouting. "I can't-I can't move, Mike. _Please_." The final word comes out strangled as she feels her eyes start to burn._

_ Her friend steps back as a nurse enters the room to check the commotion. "I can't, Britt."_

_"Mike! Mike, help me!"_

_ The nurse comes to Brittany's side and holds her arms still. "Sssh, calm down. Just calm down."_

_ "Why am I tied to the bed?!" She's now thrashing in the bed and the nurse turns and rushes out of the room, calling for help. She doesn't notice the tears on her cheeks, but she watches Mike stand in the corner of the room with his hands on the back of his head in surrender. Like he's scared too. He can't be scared though, she's the one that doesn't know what's happening! "Please," she begs him again, softly._

_ The nurse returns with a doctor and both try to restrain Brittany. The doctor tries to speak over the blonde's shouts and cries. "Ms. Pierce...Ms. Pierce, I need you to relax. Working yourself up like this isn't good for you right now."_

_ "Give her something to calm her down!" Mike snaps from the corner of the room. The doctor looks over._

_ "I can't." As he speaks, Rachel comes running into the room, having only been down in the waiting room. "We just pumped a hell of a lot of drugs out of her system, I'm not putting more in."_

_ Rachel hurries to Brittany's side and pushes the nurse out of her way. Tiny she may be, but she's fierce to protect the people she loves. She leans over Brittany, all but climbing into the bed with her, and cups her face with two hands. "Brittany, look at me. Look right at me and nowhere else." Blue eyes do as they're told, but there's still fear inside of them. "You're okay. I promise, you're okay. I'm here and Mike is here, and you are okay. Calm down now, alright?"_

_ Brittany stops fighting, and though her heart is still racing, she tries to relax back against the bed. "What's going on, Rach?" She watches Rachel's tear filled eyes flit to the doctor, then Mike, then back to her. _

_ "They're keeping you on psychiatric hold for forty-eight hours. After that, you'll be fine. You can come home and-" The doctor clears his throat, interrupting Rachel. Rachel looks over her shoulder for a moment, then back at Brittany. "I'm so glad you're okay."_

_ Brittany closes her eyes as Rachel swoops in to hug her, and she finds herself leaning in to it. She also finds her body calming down more. "I don't wanna stay here," she pouts in a small voice in Rachel's ear._

_ "Tell me it was an accident," Rachel whispers back. "Please Britt. The painkillers...for your leg..."_

_ And the night before starts to come back to her. Her heart thuds quickly. It wasn't on purpose, but it wasn't an accident. "Everything hurt," she murmurs to her best friend. "I just needed them...that's all." She had just wanted the pain to stop long enough so she could get a good night's rest. She hadn't meant to...but she had also been drinking, and that never mixes well with pills._

_ It was no secret between the group of friends that Brittany went through pain killers quicker than any of them thought she should, but it wasn't their leg in constant pain so they let it go. Now, they can't anymore._

"Can I buy you a drink, gorgeous?" Hazel Eyes is leaning in close against Brittany's ear, and though it sends a pleasant flutter through her, her head shakes.

"Another water?"

"Water? Really?" Hazel Eyes pouts and Brittany looks at her apologetically.

"I don't drink."

"So why're you in a bar?"

Brittany looks across to the dance floor where Mike and Kurt are doing some of the dorkiest dance moves she's ever seen, and a smile lights up her face. "To be with my friends," she replies.

"M'kay, so...a water then."

Hazel Eyes is about to grab the bartender's attention when Brittany notices something else on the dance floor. _Someone_ else. Someone with long, dark hair and amazingly delicious looking caramel skin. And under those half-closed lids, Brittany knows there are brown eyes that are somehow able to strike through her like a fire and melt her down.

Without a word to the girl she's been flirting with she gets her cane and starts maneuvering her way through the crowd around the bar and towards the dance floor. She's watching the not quite stranger dance far too provocatively up against a tall brunette woman, and Brittany can tell in an instant that neither one of them are sober.

She stops on the edge of the dance floor and watch as their hands roam each other's bodies, and as the shorter brunette pulls the taller down for a kiss. A very heavy and hungry kiss. She watches their bodies slow to sensual rocking, and before long the face Brittany knows reaches for her companion's hand and starts in the direction of the back hallway near the bathrooms. Brittany follows, slowly but surely.

When she catches up to them she immediately finds the tall brunette pressed back against the wall with the other girl's lips all over her neck. A dozen thoughts sprinkle Brittany's mind at once, but the most prominent one is that both women are wasted. Drunk.

She steps into the hallway and clears her throat. They don't hear her. She picks up her cane and slams it into the wall over their heads. They both jump suddenly, and those brown eyes that she remembers so vividly narrow at her in a glare.

"Get lost," Brittany says to the other woman. She says it so thickly, so darkly, that the tall brunette doesn't waste any time in running off.

"What the fuck?!" Those brown eyes are angrier now, and they're coming closer to where Brittany stands. She leans against her cane and looks back, unfazed.

"Santana," she says evenly. "Let's go."

"_Let's go_? What are you, my mother?" Santana may look pissed, but Brittany is fuming inside. Mostly because she's seeing herself. She's seeing her friends from the group. She's seeing all of their pasts burning down Santana's present, and she's not going to let it happen.

"No, but you're drunk and I'm taking you home." She turns and takes a few steps, but Santana doesn't follow. Brittany stops to look over her shoulder. "Come on, you don't want to be here."

"How the hell do you know what I want?"

Brittany turns to face her again with a long sigh. She's not even going to bother addressing the fact that the girl is in a gay club, because this totally isn't about her being attracted to Santana. It can't be. (Even though something does spark inside of her at that knowledge.) She looks at Santana for a long moment as she tries to find something to say, but she knows the place Santana is in and she knows there isn't much she can say that will mean anything to the girl right now.

"You've already gotten it, haven't you?" Brittany asks calmly. Santana stares back at her, her glare becoming more annoyed than angry, and she doesn't say a word. They stare each other down for a full minute or two before Brittany takes those few steps over to the younger girl. "I want to help you, Santana. I've been worried about you the past few weeks, and now I know I was right to be worried. Please just...let me help you." She looks down, unable to continue the eye contact. "We all lose control at some point, and that's when we need someone to pull us back up."

"I'm in control," Santana says in a quiet but thick tone.

Pain ebbs through Brittany's leg, a little more than the constant ache that's always there, because sometimes she gets psychological pains when she's emotional or stressed. She ignores it as she chews down on her lip for a moment. She nods slowly and looks up at Santana again.

"Then be in control and walk out that door with me."

* * *

The last thing Santana ever wanted was to run into someone she knows, and while Brittany is definitely on that list...a part of her is pleased to see her. The part that she's not so good at shoving away when she's had one too many drinks.

She's pissed that Brittany got in the way of her getting some action, but a voice in her head is freaking out because Brittany saw. Brittany saw Santana doing things that she shouldn't be doing, things she doesn't usually _want_.

(Except she does. She wants it constantly.)

She watches as Brittany starts to walk away, and while she could easily be stubborn and stay she instead follows. If only to fuss at the woman some more. When they get outside the club doors she lets loose.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Brittany turns, and the cold stare she sets on Santana pulls Santana's words to a stop in her throat. She sees anger, yeah, but mostly she sees disappointment. Not the pity that she would expect. "I don't know," the blonde shrugs. "No one. We're not friends, and I don't know you. You want to go back in there and fuck up your life? Go ahead."

But Santana doesn't move. She doesn't move because she doesn't want to leave Brittany's company. Her tongue comes out to brush her lips as she searches for words. "I'm not an alcoholic. And I'm not- ...I'm not gay."

"Okay," Brittany replies flatly.

"I'm _not_," she says more emphatically. She blinks quickly when she realizes Brittany is stepping closer to her, and while she wants to back away, she can't seem to. Her gaze is locked on those incredibly haunting blue eyes as Brittany comes to a stop just inches from her. Her body is screaming at having the other girl that close, but she ignores it.

"You might think you're in control, but you're going to lose it. It's going to happen fast and hard, and you're going to crash. You'll fall so deep that you won't know how to get back up. We're offering you a hand _now_. It's your choice if you take it or not."

"I'm fine," Santana manages to whisper, though her voice isn't convincing.

"You're not fine. You're on the edge, and you need help. And yeah, maybe you need rehab, but it's up to you. This moment on? Is up to you."

"Rehab is for people who-"

"People who what?" Blue eyes search brown for something and Santana doesn't like the way it feels.

"What do you even know?" Santana bites. "You're standing here all happy and healed, your little fucking group worked for you. You expect me to believe it wasn't easy for you?" Because as she sees it, there's something perfect about Brittany, and even her recovery must have been perfect and simple.

Brittany is suddenly leaning even closer into Santana's space, and her eyes are on fire. A kind of fire Santana doesn't want to touch. "You don't know anything about me." Her words are angry and a little frightening. Santana's heart thuds in her chest. "You're not special." She stops, seemingly waiting for a smart ass response from Santana, but the girl keeps her mouth shut. "I fell hard off the edge," Brittany says after a bit, more softly. She steps back and instantly Santana misses the heat. "Twice. The first time it was the painkillers they gave me for my leg, then later it was alcohol. I know what the hell I'm talking about, because I've been where you are. So take your head out of your ass and stop acting like you're the expert in pain. You don't know_ anything_."

Without a further word Brittany goes to the edge of the sidewalk and hails a cab. When one stops she leans in and hands the cabbie some cash before looking over her shoulder at Santana. "Get in. Go home."

She's still trying to take in everything Brittany just threw at her, and she can't do anything but what she's told. She eases down into the back of the cab and looks up at the blonde standing before her. "You're not gonna make sure I go home?"

"No. I don't like cabs, and you can clearly take care of yourself." And with that Brittany slams the door shut in her face. She can't even hide the shock on her face. She has a hard time believing this cold, angry person is the same girl who was so warm and sweet the week they met.

"Where to, sweetheart?"

Santana closes her eyes and leans back in her seat as she gives the cabbie her address. She had wanted to get out and drown everything, stop feeling, and now she only feels everything a million times worse than she had before. And she finds herself wanting to _everything_ about Brittany.

* * *

_"Rehab?"_

_"Dr. Smythe says he's willing to release you today if you check into rehab, otherwise he wants to monitor you for a few more days to make sure you're not a harm to yourself." Mike speaks from where he leans against the window sill in Brittany's hospital room. Rachel sits in the chair beside her, and Kurt is standing in the corner with his arms crossed, quiet._

_"I'm...I'm not a danger," Brittany insists. "I didn't try to...it wasn't like that."_

_"We believe you, but you do need help," Rachel says carefully. "We have all been turning the other cheek for too long, and we love you too much to continue."_

_Brittany looks over at Kurt, the person she can usually get to side with her. "I'm fine. Tell them I'm fine. I...after everything I've been through, I'm doing the best I can." She's begging her younger friend, but he looks away._

_"We can't defend it anymore," he says in a small voice. "We know how much you've been through, but you have an addiction and it can't continue."_

_"We won't let it," Mike adds in. She meets his eyes and he stares back at her evenly. "You're so strong, Britt. Just say you'll go, and try."_

_Her eyes close and she takes in breaths that are choppier than she would like them to be. She doesn't want to admit that she needs help, because that would be admitting that what happened still controls her life. And what the hell is she supposed to do if she stops taking the drugs? How will she get through the pain? Both the physical and emotional? She tries to calm her breaths and thoughts as she nods. "Just don't give up on me," her voice cracks. Because she needs them. She needs these people more than she needs anything else._

_"Never," Rachel murmurs, taking her hand tightly. She squeezes it and keeps her eyes on her friend. "Never."_

"Britt? You okay?"

Brittany looks up and sees Mike on the sidewalk outside the club doors. She's been standing out here for a good twenty minutes since Santana's cab pulled away, and she can't bring herself to go back inside. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I...I need to go."

"You want company?"

"No. I'm..." She brushes her fingers back through her hair and sighs. "I...I need to call my sponsor. Tell the others I'm sorry." She almost turns to go, but walks over to him and leans in to kiss his cheek.

Mike smiles softly. "What was that for?"

"For catching me when I was falling," she whispers, keeping close.

"I would've caught you no matter what," he whispers back as he turns to look at her with a soft gaze.

A response gets caught in Brittany's throat so she just nods. She gives his arm a squeeze. "Night, Mike."

"Night, Britt," he replies. "Take care of yourself."

She starts down the sidewalk and pulls her cellphone out of her purse when she's a block down. She looks down to scroll through the contacts and holds the phone to hear ear as it rings.

"Brittany?"

She takes a deep breath as everything tries to surface. Not that she pushes things away, but she doesn't let them take her over very often anymore. But tonight...tonight something else happened and she doesn't understand why she's feeling this way. "I need to come over, Burt."


	6. Chapter Five

Brittany's tired when she reaches Burt's, and she leans her forehead to the door as she tries to catch her breath. It was a long walk and she's tired, and frankly she's just emotionally drained. Her knuckles knock the door softly and she stands back when she hears the locks tumbling undone. The door swings open and the man that has become a second father to her just stares out at her with knowing eyes.

She doesn't know how he does that, but he does it with everyone. He can always see when someone needs to talk or when they need _something_, and he's always there and patient.

"Where'd you walk from?" He asks, pulling the door open wider.

"Not important," she answers as she slowly hobbles inside the apartment and finds her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch and leans back, closing her eyes and resting her head to the back of it. She knows he wants to give her a hard time about her progress in transportation, but it's not something she likes to fight about.

"Want me to make some tea?"

"No, I don't want fucking tea," she snaps without lifting her head or opening her eyes.

"Ahh, I see we have bitter Brittany tonight," Burt says as he takes a seat across from her. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

She's inclined to snap at him for the comment, but he's Burt and she deserves it for the way she treats him sometimes. It's not that she doesn't love him, she does, she just knows that he'll put up with a lot more than most people will.

She brings a hand up to rub her eyes, but she stays in her position. "How the hell did you put up with me in the beginning?" She finally asks after a long silence. "Why?" She lifts her head to look at him.

Burt studies her for awhile and she can't keep his gaze so she looks away. She can feel his eyes on her though, and she wishes he would just speak. She knows he's building up the words in his head. He leans back in his arm chair and crosses his arms.

"Well...Kurt was scared for you. You know he never had to deal with me at my worst, so he hadn't seen it before, but...he was really scared.-"

"Yeah, I lived it. I know. He convinced you to talk to me, and when I started drinking you dragged me to meetings...I know that. But how? You didn't have to do that, and...I wasn't..." she drifts off with a shrug.

"It's never easy. No one's easy to put up with in the beginning, but that's why we help each other. To get passed that part."

"Didn't you ever just..." She swipes her hand through her long, blonde locks with a slight huff. "Want to shake me? Scream in my face and tell me how stupid I was being? And selfish? And..." She feels that familiar hot prick of tears in her eyes and she blinks quickly to hold them at bay. Not that she's never cried in front of Burt, but she doesn't want to start tonight.

"Okay, look kid, you really gotta clue me in here on what's goin' on. I can't read your mind."

She doesn't notice how he doesn't answer her questions, but she pulls her lip between her teeth and is quiet a moment longer before turning to him. "I...I talk to people, you know? At meetings. I try to help, but...aside from a couple of friends I'm not really...I haven't..." She stops and takes a breath. "I thought I was trying to help someone. I thought maybe I could...do something. But she just...she's..." A pain in the ass, frustrating, in complete denial, and really really hot. Brittany closes her eyes for a moment and opens them again. "I don't know her, but I think she's spinning down fast and it just reminds me of me, and where I used to be..."

"That's normal, Britt. We can't help each other and not think of our own struggles. But...you also hafta ask yourself if you think you're ready to help someone. You've come a long way, and you've been sober for a long time, but are you sure you're ready to be that kinda support for someone?"

"No," she answers easily. She watches the floor. "But...I want to fix her."

"You can't fix anyone."

"I know."

"What you can do is be her friend. She probably needs one of those. Someone that gets it," he suggests carefully.

* * *

When Santana stumbles into her apartment she finds Quinn asleep on the couch. She wants to sneak into her room before her roommate sees her, but she can't. She can't move. It all hurts. It hurts _so fucking much_, and she feels _everything_. She feels the warmth of the unknown woman against her, she feels Brittany's angry and disappointed gaze, she feels the shame and anger and confusion. She wants it to stop. She wants to drown it all until it _stops-_

A choking sob escapes her throat and the room fades around her. She's falling. That sob, that painful sound, wakes Quinn. She rushes to the sound of it in time to see Santana falling and she catches her. She holds her crumpled friend on the floor tightly, and Santana just holds onto Quinn's shirt and hides against her chest as more painful sobs erupt from her throat.

"I'm not," she starts hiccuping out. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.."

"Sssh..." Quinn soothes her and tucks her chin to the top of Santana's head.

The words want to come out. They have to come out. _I'm not gay_. She said it to Brittany and she has to say it again and again until it's true, because the opposite _can't_ be true. Her family wouldn't accept it, her abuela would cast her off, and everything that she's been fighting since puberty would finally take her down. Her chest heaves painfully as she cries, and words finally slip out. "I'm not fine." Not the words she meant, but they're true all the same. "I'm not fine," she sobs. "Help me...help me, Quinn...I can't do this."

"I'm here," Quinn whispers. "You're not fine, but you will be. I'll help you. I promise I'll help you."

"Don't let go."

"Sssh, I'm here...I'm here, Santana."

It isn't long before Santana passes out in Quinn's arms from the alcohol and the crying. Quinn carefully maneuvers herself up and lifts Santana up to lay her on the couch, then she does the only thing that she really knows to do. She goes across the hall to get Emma.

* * *

Santana tries to roll out of the fog, but it's thick around her and she can't make out much of the world she's existing in. Her head pounds and her mouth feels full of cotton. She's still drunk. She can hear muffled whispers, and she slowly pries her eyes open.

The apartment is dark and it takes her some time to realize she's on the couch. There's a light coming from the kitchen, and she tries to get up but ends up tumbling off the couch with a crash. Quinn and Emma come running into the room.

"Santana?" Quinn kneels beside her.

"M'fine...fine." Her hand swipes through her hair and she crawls back up onto the couch. A leg tucks under herself and she blinks up at the women before her. The scene from only hours before is lost in her sleep haze still. "What're you two doing?"

Emma and Quinn exchange glances before Emma takes a hesitant step forward and sits beside Santana. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," she grumbles. "Why?"

"Do you remember anything from before you passed out?" Quinn asks it softly as her arms wrap defensively around herself. Santana frowns. She remembers going out...she remembers a lot of shots...dancing...blonde..._Brittany_.

And then it all floods back to her and she pulls in on herself. She brings her knees up to hug them to her chest. At that sight the other two see that she does remember so Emma gently takes the lead.

"You asked Quinn for help, Santana. We're prepared to help you if that's still what you want."

"No!" Quinn's eyes close for a moment. "It's not up to her anymore."

"Quinn..." Emma warns quietly.

"I don't care how drunk you were, you..." Quinn's head shakes, and Santana studies her best friend. She sees through this defensiveness and annoyance, and she sees how scared Quinn is. Santana scared the crap out of her.

"I...I don't...I'm not sure if..." She can't find words, but despite remembering her meltdown and some of the babbling words she cried into Quinn's chest, she's scared too. She's scared to tell them that yes she needs help. She may still be a little drunk, but she has her senses about her now.

"I'm calling you on your strikes. Last night...that used them all up," Quinn snaps, her eyes opening. "We're done. You begged for my help, and it's time."

"No, no I can't..." Santana starts to get up, but Quinn grabs her forearms and pushes her back down. Santana can't help but stumble back onto the couch. She looks up at Quinn with slight wide eyes, surprised at the action. "Quinn..." Her voice cracks and she hates it. But she can't. Quinn can't make her do this; can't make her think about those words she said. The ones she didn't say.

"You said you wanted help," Emma tries again. "We see that deep down you don't want this for yourself. Forcing you won't help. You really have to want it. You have to want to be better, Santana."

Better. Right. Like sobering up and finding herself would make it _better. _She wants...she wants...

Her phone goes off, surprising her with a jolt, and she fumbles it out of her pocket. Her heart begins to race when she sees there's a text and who it's from.

_Brittany Pierce: I'm sorry for losing my cool. I'm just worried. I hope you're okay._

She _wants_ to be okay.

She looks up at her best friend and blinks back tears that suddenly want to resurface. She mouths wordlessly for a moment, but words finally tumble out in a whisper. "I don't want..._this_."

"Then let's fix it." Quinn's voice goes authoritative and strong again. She holds out her hands for Santana. "Emma found a place, and we can go. Right now."

"I..." Santana just stares at those outstretched hands, unsure of how to begin. "How?"

"Stand up," Emma speaks up, her words meaning more than just that.

"Stand up," Quinn repeats quietly.

Santana sits there a few minutes longer, but then slowly she reaches to take Quinn's hands, to let Quinn take a tight grasp on hers. She closes her eyes and breathes out slowly...and she stands up. Quinn's arms go around her in a tight hug and she lets herself be held. She melts into the embrace and her breathing gets shaky.

"Are you ready?" Quinn asks after several long moments.

"No," Santana offers honestly.

"Are we going?"

"...yeah. Before I change my mind."

Emma is up on her feet and taking Santana's hand while Quinn lets go to grab a few things, then she returns to wrap her arm around Santana's waist, and the two lead her out the front door. Her feet have never felt so heavy before. Everything is heavy.

What the fuck is she doing?

* * *

It's been hours since Brittany got home. She had sent Santana a text of apology when she returned, hopeful to open a door, but she hadn't heard back. More than likely Santana is passed out. Brittany can't sleep though. She keeps replaying the club and the conversation with Burt in her head, and those stupid memories of the hospital keep surging back through her mind.

She sighs and rolls over in her bed, squeezing her eyes shut and willing sleep to come. Somewhere in that next hour she drifts off, but before she can fall deeply into slumber her phone goes off. She opens her eyes blearily and grabs for it. Her eyes try to adjust to the light it emits as she reads over the words of a text. It takes a few reads for the words to make sense and sink in, and they make her sit up in her bed.

_Santana Lopez: Thank you. At this place. Helping Hands. Didn't want to worry you when you didn't hear from me. They're taking my phone away now. Bye._

Brittany just stares at the message, and she wants badly to respond to it – she knows exactly what Helping Hands is – but she knows Santana more than likely won't see it for awhile. She wouldn't know what to say anyway.

She's a mix of emotions. She knows Santana needs the help, and she's glad that the girl is trying, but she's scared for her. Just...scared. She remembers what it was like, she remembers her own fear, and now she feels it for Santana.

"You'll be okay," she whispers, hoping that somehow Santana hears it.


	7. Chapter Six

**A**/**N**: This chapter dedicated to isagrimorie on tumblr for always supporting this little fic that could and encouraging me to keep going, thank you :)

Now as a warning I know this is a generally angsty fic, but we're getting into the beginning of Santana's recovery here so things may be even more rough for a bit. Also, I'm just winging the recovery center and have little knowledge in how they run so let's just go with it?

**Moving onto the most important note on this chapter:** If you've read most of my fics you should know by now that I don't often include Finn in my stories. I'm not a fan of his character in canon, like...at all. I had been thinking before the loss of Cory that I should start writing Finn into my stories more _somewhere_ as the character I wish they had made him. I had also wanted to throw in another character here that could be on Santana's side, without knowing either her or Brittany already, and it came to me after the shock of Cory calmed in me that I should combine the two. I debated this for awhile, because I know it's still fresh and I didn't want to upset anyone by putting Finn into my story. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to show a different Finn and I wanted to honor Cory. I adored the actor, if not the character, and...this just felt right. I will confirm right now that Finn_ is not_a patient here and _does not_ have drug or alcohol problems. To be honest, I've had the story sitting here written up until his introduction for weeks and weeks and...I just didn't know if I wanted to leave him in it or take him out. I decided to go with my gut though and leave him in and continue the chapter. This is how I want my story to go, and this is who I want Finn to be in this world to Santana. I hope this doesn't turn anyone off by including him, and I'm sorry if it does.

* * *

_It's a warm, suffocating (but in the best way possible) haze of sweet sweat, blonde hair, and moans. Fingers everywhere, lips everywhere; and you're not sure you've ever felt so good in your life. She's heaven and she's all around you. She's heat, she's fire, she's the sweetest melting vanilla you've ever touched or tasted. It's a dance, a blurry haze of lines and fog between your bodies, your lines. Somewhere she ends and you begin, but you can't for the life of you tell where. Her mouth is soft and hard, it's slow and fast; it's everything all at once. You're crumbling. Everything is crumbling and you can't breathe. You gasp, you strain to hold onto yourself and feel the ground beneath you, but it's futile. And maybe you don't want to ever land again. You can't breathe. She's all over you and under you and- and oh fuck the burn shooting through you. You want it all. You want all of her, you want-_

Santana wakes up, sweaty and out of breath, in a dark room and she has to take several moments to remind herself of where she is. To remind herself that she doesn't have the blonde beauty to drown in. Fuck.

She sits up and pushes her damp, dark locks off of her forehead. She's hot, but she's shivering. And _fuck_, she is so fucking turned on.

No. No, she pushes those images from her mind. She pushes the feelings away. She breathes in deeply and exhales. Twice. Three times. She gets up and goes to the tiny sink in the shared room so she can splash cold water on her face. She would look up at herself in the mirror, but there isn't one. She doesn't particularly _want_ to look at herself anyway. It's kind of why the mirror isn't there. It hasn't been there since she smashed it to pieces, and it hasn't been replaced because everyone thought she was going to use it to cut herself or something. She wasn't. She had just been sickened to see her own face and couldn't take it anymore.

That was somewhere in week one.

Week One:

The first week of being locked up sucks. Okay, so she isn't locked up, but she isn't allowed to leave. When Quinn and Emma signed her in she agreed that she would stay sixty days. She was still half drunk though, and completely emotionally drained, so she blames her own stupidity. Week one she spends mostly in her room, in her bed, because why the hell would she do anything else? They won't force her to talk to anyone yet, and there's that whole withdraw thing.

She never really thought withdraw from alcohol would be any big deal. It's not like withdraw from crack or something; it's just booze. But it's not easy. By the end of day three she's shouting in Spanish at her unfortunate roommate and any orderlies or counselors that try to come in. She wants to leave. She wants to drink. The first two days she slept and day three she's awake and thinking, and awake and thinking is always what makes her want to drink. But she won't leave her room. Even if it's a distraction, it's a distraction she doesn't want. She doesn't want to be around the other freaks. The only thing she leaves the room for is the bathroom and to eat. (And well two attempts at seeing her counselor one-on-one, but she just sits there in silence and eventually gets sent back to her room.)

It's day five when she breaks. She's out of bed sometime around three, finally, and she's washing her face. She's been told that the next day, Sunday, is visitor's day. And despite everything and having only been there a week she's allowed one visitor. For half an hour. She stares at herself in the mirror over her sink and wonders why the fuck they think she would want to see anyone. Why anyone would want to see her. She doesn't even want to see herself.

How the hell did she end up here? How the hell did she let fucking Quinn talk her into coming here? Like she has a problem. She doesn't have a problem. She's fine.

"Fine...fine...fine.." she mutters it to herself, glaring at her face in the mirror. If she says it enough will it be true? She closes her eyes for only a moment, and she sees blonde hair and blue eyes. That's where it all went wrong. _She's_ where it all went wrong. If she hadn't walked into that stupid meeting and met those stupid beautiful blue eyes, she wouldn't be here. Because Brittany made her falter. Brittany made her think for a second, just a second, that there's something more out there for her. Brittany took her to that stupid diner, Brittany smiled at her and touched her hand, Brittany texted her to make sure she was okay; Brittany caught her at the club. Caught her...doing things she shouldn't have been doing. Brittany yelled and screamed, and she walked away. And Brittany wouldn't get out of her fucking head from the moment they met.

Everything goes back to Brittany.

She finds her own dark eyes in her reflection and they're watering. Fuck. She's crying. She needs to drown this all out and she can't. She can't because...because why? Because she's fucked up. She's so seriously _fucked up_ and she hates it. Why couldn't she have been born different? Better? She looks into her own eyes, and she sees a flash of what Brittany must have seen that night at the club.

No one.

That infamous anger strikes, and she isn't sure of anything until she's being pulled off the floor by two strong orderlies, broken glass all around her. She's screaming in Spanish and she doesn't even know what she's saying. Lima Heights comes out at some point or another in her words, but everything else...they're just loud words. Loud words trying to push the loud thoughts and feelings out of her chest, but as always it doesn't work. She's flailing her arms, she's kicking, and...and...

Nothing.

It's day six when she wakes up again. She's in a room of her own, and she may as well have padded walls around her and a straight jacket. She's...fuzzy. Her mind, her mouth...everything is fuzzy. The room is small, and all that's in there is a single twin bed. One of the most uncomfortable beds she's ever touched. She sits up and runs her fingers through her hair as she tries to piece together what happened and what time it is.

She gets up and moves towards the door. There's a small window in it and when she reaches out to test the doorknob. She's not locked in. This really isn't like the movies. At all. She opens the door and steps out. She glances uncertainly up and down the unfamiliar hallway, and she sees an orderly sitting behind a desk down the hall. She warily walks over to him while scratching her arm. Why does she itch? She glances down and sees bright red marks where the mirror shards had cut her. She stops scratching immediately when she sees the scars attempting to heal are just breaking open again.

"Ms. Lopez," the orderly says, sitting up straighter. "How are you feeling?"

She eyes his awkward half smile and moves her eyes to his name tag._ Finn_. Stupid name. "..okay?" She's not really sure how she's supposed to answer that. She looks around. "Where am I?"

"In the resting wing."

Her brow shoots up and her arms cross. "Seriously? The 'resting wing'?"

He looks a bit perplexed and scratches his neck. "Well..yeah, I mean...it's just where patients who need some quiet time can come and-"

"Do I look like a five year old? I don't need 'quiet time'." She uses air quotes. "Can I go back to my real room now?"

"Not until you talk to one of the counselors," Finn says apologetically. "It's...kinda the rule."

Her jaw sets and her eyes roll. "Fine."

* * *

Half an hour later she finds herself sitting in one of the small rooms that has two big arm chairs and a table. She sits rigidly in one chair while _Bonnie_ sits across from her. They've been here before; staring each other down while Santana stubbornly keeps quiet.

Seems a little unprofessional to tell your patient to call you by your first name, but she supposes they can do what the hell they want.

It's a good fifteen minutes before _Bonnie_ speaks. "Do you want to talk about the incident in your room yesterday?"

"No. You wanna talk about that horrible bleach job? I mean, really, you couldn't do better than that?" The words snap off her tongue without a second thought. Bonnie doesn't even blink. She just sits there quietly like she expects this is some battle of will that she's going to win. It's not. Santana just doesn't want to talk, and she's not going to. She'll just wait out her sixty days and go home. Easy.

Another ten minutes pass.

"You had a visitor yesterday who wanted to see you."

She feels her teeth grind hard together and her eyes narrow. Of course Quinn would fucking come without an invitation. Who the fuck does she think she is? That-

"A friend of yours? Brittany?"

A tenseness that she can't fake away shoots through her and her eyes snap up to those waiting on hers. Obviously she's shit at hiding that flash of _something_ that goes through her gaze, because Bonnie sits forward slightly in her chair. As if she hit a nerve. As if she understands something. She doesn't understand a damn thing.

"She's not a friend, and if she comes again I don't want to see her." Santana tries her best to keep any emotion from her voice, but she knows the slight hitch in her words give her away.

"Why?"

"Why? Because I fucking said so," she snaps.

"Did something happen between you two?"

Something? Try nothing. But everything. Everything on her insides, everything on her mind, every angle of her life twisting. Brittany did all of it, and she'll likely keep doing it. "I barely know her."

"You must mean something to her if she came out here to see you."

"Look, she's a stalker, okay? I went to one fucking AA meeting and she decided she wanted all up on this," a hand waves at her own body. "But I'm not a lesbo and she couldn't accept it. Can't help that everyone wants me." She shrugs it away with a smirk.

There's another long silence, and while Santana looks away she can feel the doctor's eyes on her. Those eyes are studying her, judging her words, trying to read things that Santana doesn't want a soul to read.

"Santana," Bonnie says slowly. "There's more to this than to quit drinking. There are a lot of issues to address, and you're not going to make any progress until you do. As we're entering your second week here you're no longer excused from group or from our meetings. If you'd like to return to your room now, you may, but you will be expected at group tonight."

"And if I don't go?"

"We can't force you, but it will be a mark on your record. Once you have enough marks we have no choice but to release you. You came to us for help, but if you don't accept that help then there's nothing we can do for you."

Right. Just someone else to give up on her. Like she's not used to that? She rolls her eyes again and stands. "Fine, so I can go?"

"You may leave, yes. Finn is outside and he'll lead you back to your room."

"Great," she says, her voice thick with a false, mocking excitement.

* * *

She goes to group that night, but she doesn't say anything.

* * *

Week Two:

"Santana..." Quinn's voice sounds strained over the phone line. It's mixed with something else, but Santana can't quite place it. Something close to disappointment. (What else?)

It's post-dinner on the third day of week two and Santana still hasn't said anything in group or her sessions with Bonnie. But she's going and that's what she's supposed to do, right? Group starts in about twenty minutes, and the time between is when phone calls are acceptable. It's the first time Quinn has called since day one to check on her.

"I don't wanna fuckin' hear it."

"Too bad!" Now the blonde is yelling, and it actually makes Santana jump slightly. "You begged for help! You agreed to _get_ help! So why the hell are you screwing yourself over and being a complete miserable bitch to everyone there?"

"What, do they send home weekly report cards?"

"No, but I know you. And as one of the people that checked you in and your emergency contact I'm allowed to hear how you're progressing. They don't tell me what's being said, but...well they do tell me when you're not cooperating. God you just..."

"I just what? I'm a lost cause? Yeah, we've been through that fight before," Santana doesn't even have the energy to snap her words, she just leans back in the hard chair and twirls the phone cord around her finger.

There's silence on the line and it takes a few moments before Santana hears the soft gasp of Quinn trying to hide that she's crying. This makes her sit up straighter. As much shit as she gives Quinn, and as much as she does _occasionally_ get some enjoyment out of upsetting Quinn; she really doesn't like making her cry. It's so rare that Quinn let's anyone see or hear her this way. Santana looks down, brows knit together, and waits. She can hear deep breaths of Quinn trying to pull herself together.

Santana keeps quiet and just waits. It's a long time before Quinn finally speaks. "If you...if you just _say_ it, things can start to get better," she whispers.

"Say what?" Her reply is soft as well, because she knows exactly what Quinn is referring to and she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Say what you've been running from since we were kids."

"I have to go," Santana says without missing a beat.

There's a loud exhale. "Fine. Go. But..." Quinn mutters a 'shit' under her breath. "Please try? I...I love you. I need you to be okay."

Santana doesn't know what to say to that so she just hangs up with a quick, "Bye." They don't do that. Get mushy with each other. She must really be fucking up everything.

* * *

She's sitting in a small circle, the seven people around her looking more familiar by now than she wishes they would. She's listened to most of their stories, and they suck, but they by no means make Santana want to open her mouth.

Ford, the doctor that leads group, turns to Santana as they go around the circle and watches her. All eyes turn to her. Her turn. She didn't speak two nights ago after her call with Quinn, but...

Shit.

_Fuck_.

She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want these fuckers in her head, to see what's inside of her, but...oh fuck you, Quinn. All she's heard in her head the last couple of days is Quinn's voice, and Quinn's tears. And it makes her hate herself that much more.

Her mouth opens. All she has to do is say that she likes to drink, right? She figures that's already clear, and whether she thinks it's a "problem" or not is irrelevant. Just say what they want to hear so they'll start telling Quinn she's making progress. That's all she has to do.

She closes her mouth again as tries to pull her words together, and finally she opens it and speaks. "I'm a bitch and I like to drink. Seems everyone has a problem with that but me." She puts challenge into those words; a challenge for anyone to twist her words or read deeper.

But that asshole Ford rests his elbow on his knees and leans forward. It's his thing he does to make it look like he cares, like he wants to listen. "And why do they have a problem with it if you don't?"

"I don't fucking know," she snaps. "Why don't you bring them in here instead?"

"Because you're the one that signed up to be here," he answers simply. "There must be a reason for that."

That's all it takes. She closes herself up, zips the shades up and builds the heavy brick wall. She's done. Her arms cross and she watches the floor and she says nothing else. Sure there's a reason, but she's going to keep it as buried as she has all these years.

* * *

On day five of her second week she's sitting on her own in the common room. It looks like a psych ward from a movie or something with tables and chairs and mindless people just hanging around. She's been good at keeping to herself, not making friends, and not talking to anyone that tries to befriend her. She doesn't want to know any of them.

So when someone sits beside her she shoots up her usual glare. That dopey-smiled orderly, Finn, is looking back at her with his stupid dopey smile.

"What?" She barks it out and prays he'll just _go_.

"I dunno. You always look so...like, you don't ever have anyone to talk to," he says with a shrug.

"Maybe because I don't want anyone talking to me," she mutters. She turns her eyes back to the TV across the room that's playing lame soaps which she can't hear.

"Everyone wants someone to talk to," he replies.

"Fuck off."

"Well...what if we don't talk?" He pulls a deck of cards from his scrubs pocket. "Do you know Go-Fish?"

Santana is so shocked by this that she can't even come up with a smart ass reply. Her mouth drops open and she stares at this guy like he's...some kind of special baboon. It takes her several attempts at mouthing silent words before she can actually answer him. "Are you fucking serious? Go-Fish?"

"Well, we can't encourage any gambling games or anything and...I don't know. It's easy."

Her head shakes and she thinks for a moment. Well, if he'll keep his trap shut it'll at least give her something to do. "Yeah, fine, whatever. Wouldn't wanna hurt your pea-brain with anything more complicated." She swivels her chair to face him better, and he just grins and starts to deal.

Week Three:

Day two into week three and Go-Fish has kind of become a regular thing. She thinks she might snap soon and break Finn's neck, but it's a distraction at least. And it's pretty amusing to watch him study his cards so intensely like he's in the middle of a poker game or something. She gives him crap, he shakes his head at her, and they just play. It's routine. No talking, no bonding; just cards.

She figures he's not so bad. Even if he's an idiot.

Then he starts speaking and she wants to take back all of it. "So...I hear around that you still don't talk about...stuff," he says slowly as he passes her his twos.

Santana snaps her head up and levels a glare on him. "That why you've been trying to buddy up to me? They want you to get me to open up?" She stands abruptly, pushing her chair back and throwing her cards down. "Fuck you." She starts to storm towards her room, but Finn is on his feet and quickly has her arm. He spins her around to face him. She tries to yank away, but his hands land on her shoulders as he looks down at her.

"Stop, Santana."

"Let go of me, perv." She pulls away again and he holds his hands up in surrender.

"No one told me to hang out with you. You just...looked like you might need someone to talk to. Or _not_ talk to."

She pauses her escape, but crosses her arms in that ever so protective way that she always does. "I like_ not_ talking," she says through gritted teeth.

"Then we'll not talk. Let's just finish the game, okay? Forget I said anything."

Santana thinks it over for a moment before stalking back to their table. "Try bringing it up again and I'll kick in that Frankenstein forehead of yours," she mutters.

They don't say anything other than numbers and 'go fish' for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

She's sitting at group later that afternoon, and she's thinking about stupid Finn and him trying to be her "friend". It leads her to thinking about her other friends, which leads her to thinking about Brittany. She closes her eyes to picture the blonde and quickly tries to shove her off her mind. Her eyes fly open as something hits her. A memory. Her breaking down on the sidewalk that night...Brittany coming to her aid...admitting how badly she wanted to-

She hasn't thought 'I need a drink' in at least two days.

She's so lost in that thought that she misses three people talking, and it takes Ford calling her name three times before she snaps out of it. She looks over at him and he's watching her as though he could see her mind turning something over.

"Anything to share today, Santana?"

No. Never. She doesn't speak. They know that. They all know that. It's been that way for three and a half weeks now. She doesn't say...she doesn't...words aren't...

"I haven't thought about drinking in two days," she murmurs, her words drain out with the shock of her realization. She keeps her eyes everywhere but on anyone in that group.

"What do you think about that?" He asks.

Her face screws together and she tries to figure it out. She doesn't know what she feels. Hasn't that always been the problem? No. No, the problem has always been that she knows how she feels and she doesn't like it. Any of it.

"I...I don't know," she says softly, honestly.

"Take some time," Ford replies gently. "If it comes to you we'll go back to it."

She can only nod as the next person starts to speak, and she doesn't hear a word anyone else says for the rest of the meeting. She goes back to her room and lays down.

How does she feel about it? She feels like she wants a drink now. Now that she's realized she hasn't been thinking about it, it only makes her want it more. That's just how fucked up she is she figures. Her hands push hard into her eyes to rub them and maybe kick start _something_ in her mind, but all it does is push away the tears wanting to crop up.

She lays there for a long time. She misses dinner. She's not hungry anyway. But when her roommate comes back from eating, Santana glances at the clock and realizes she has a small gap of time for a phone call if she wants.

But does she?

It takes a moment longer, but she pulls herself to her feet and slowly makes her way to the wall of phones. She waits for an empty booth. When she finally gets to one she sits down and stares at the phone. Who does she want to call? What does she even want to say?

She starts to stand, but pauses before sitting back down. She picks up the phone and holds it to hear ear. She doesn't dial, not yet. She waits. Then she closes her eyes and dials the front desk operator. She asks to be connected to a number from her cell phone, and it takes a little while, but eventually she hears a ringing. She waits.

"Hello?"

"H-hi," she says quietly as she tries to find her voice. To find her damn words. "Um..it's...this is Santana. Santana Lo-"

"I only know one Santana." The reply is light but lacking emotion.

"Right. Um...hey."

"How are you?"

Fuck. Fuck this and fuck this idea and fuck her voice and the things it's doing to Santana's gut and mind and skin.

She kind of forgot how perfect Brittany's voice is.

"I..." She feels a lump rise in her throat and she tries so hard to swallow it down. Her voice catches. "I don't know what I'm doing," she admits shakily.

Fuck. Hot tears are in her eyes and they're not gonna go away this time. How can she talk and hide any trace of them? Of the way she can't stop her words from wanting to hitch and break? She dips her face to hold it in her hand, and her shoulders start to shake silently.

"Santana," that perfect voice is soft in her ear. Sweet. Forgiving. Understanding. All of those fucking things that Santana hates and likes at the same time. God her voice. It makes Santana want to rip herself apart and show Brittany everything, because that voice makes it sound like the woman would understand and stitch her back together in the gentlest of ways and never let her seams tear again.

She knows Brittany has to hear her sucking in air by now; hiccuping and trying to contain herself.

"Do you want to talk?" Again the words are so sweet and soft, they wait. Brittany waits for her. Her silence waiting like she would wait forever. Santana wants to scream at Brittany to shut up, she wants to hang up, she wants to find that voice and the arms it belongs to and hide in them.

_Fuck_ what _is_ this?

"No," she gasps out.

"Okay," Brittany replies. "We don't have to talk." And she doesn't hang up. Neither one do.

Santana knows she should, to not let Brittany hear her this way, but she can't. She doesn't want to sever that connection. Somehow just having Brittany on the other end of the line makes everything feel...feel...well, a little less _something_. She just doesn't know what. She doesn't want to say 'better', because that would be an admission of something.

Around the same time she starts to calm down, a beep sounds in her ear indicating her time is almost up. "I...I have to go," she whispers.

"Okay," Brittany says again.

"Okay."

There's a long silence, and Santana would think Brittany had hung up on her if she couldn't hear her soft breathing. "I believe you can do this," Brittany finally says. Her words aren't soft or sweet this time, they're certain and direct. "Find what hurts the most, and..." She sighs softly. "...face it. You can do it, Santana. I believe you can do it."

Santana is struck by so many emotions at once that she can't even respond. She slams the phone down into its receiver and curls forward, both hands now cradling her face. She starts crying again and this time she doesn't hold back. She barely notices Finn come up to her, pull her from the booth, and down the hall to an empty counseling room. She doesn't even realize that she's grasping onto him tightly as she finally lets it all out.

* * *

_"So if you love me, let me go._  
_And run away before I know._  
_My heart is just too dark to care._  
_I can't destroy what isn't there._  
_Deliver me into my fate -_  
_If I'm alone I cannot hate_  
_I don't deserve to have you..._  
_My smile was taken long ago_  
_If I can change I hope I never know.."_

**Snuff - Slipknot**


End file.
